Friends

The door hinges creaked softly as Diego pushed it open, the electronic device he had used to unlock the padlock still in his hand. He glanced at Leo and pressed a finger to his lips, signaling for silence.

Inside, the warehouse was dark, the heavy scent of plastic dominating the air. Beams of light filtered through cracks in the structure, illuminating stacks of boxes in various sizes, marked with symbols and codes that Leo didn’t recognize.

Diego pointed to a table in the corner, scattered with papers and small open boxes containing electronic components. Leo followed, his footsteps echoing faintly on the cold concrete floor.

“Look at this,” Leo whispered, picking up a piece of paper. It was a note with the address of a shop in the Electronics District. “This looks important.”

Diego examined the nearby boxes, finding partially torn labels bearing the unmistakable emblem of the Vanguard. “They’re assembling something.”

Before they could continue investigating, the sound of voices made them freeze. Leo and Diego exchanged a glance before ducking behind a stack of boxes. Two men entered the warehouse, their firm steps echoing in the space.

“The boss said everything’s under control,” one of them said, his voice dripping with arrogance.

Hidden, Diego couldn’t take his eyes off one of the men. His body seemed frozen, his gaze fixed, jaw clenched tightly.

Leo whispered, trying to keep calm. “What are we going to do?”

Diego remained silent, his gaze glued to the Vanguard emblem on one man’s uniform. The sight seemed to unlock something within him, dragging him into a memory he couldn’t shake…

***

A rust-colored sun hung low over the crumbling buildings, bathing the district in its fiery glow as if foretelling the chaos simmering below. Diego and Eric sat on the roof of an abandoned factory, the only place where they could feel the wind without the sour stench of the streets. Up there, they could pretend the world was simpler. That the district wasn’t just a maze of poverty, violence, and decaying concrete.

Diego stretched his legs, his eyes wandering over the alleys below. A siren wailed in the distance, but no one paid attention. He turned to Eric, who was unusually quiet. Eric was holding a handful of small chips, turning them over in his fingers like they were weapons.

“Where did you get those?” Diego asked, suspicious.

Eric hesitated, rolling the chips between his fingers. “I worked for them.”

The casual tone in Eric’s voice made Diego’s heart skip a beat. He sat up straighter, his gaze sharp. “For them?”

Eric sighed, slipping the chips into his pocket. He didn’t need to say their name. Diego knew exactly who he meant. They dominated the district, a cancer no one could cut out. No matter how much you tried to look the other way, sooner or later, you’d find them staring back at you.

“Eric…” Diego began, his voice low, laden with warning. “What did you do?”

“Relax,” Eric said, raising his hands in defense. “I just unloaded some crates. Nothing big.” He hesitated before continuing, his eyes fixed on the horizon. “We need to eat, Diego. You know that. We can’t keep scraping by, taking from people worse off than we are.”

Diego shook his head, his chest simmering with frustration. “That’s not it, Eric. You know what they do. You think they’re helping? They don’t help anyone. They kill people like us.”

Eric turned to face Diego, his dark eyes filled with something unrecognizable—guilt, maybe, or frustration. “And what do you think we can do, then? Just sit here and wait for something to fall out of the sky? There’s no way out, Diego. At least this way, we get some money. We can eat real food… maybe even leave this place someday.”

Diego narrowed his eyes. “Easy money never comes without trouble.”

“Do we have a choice?” Eric shot back, his voice firm. “Look around, Diego. Look at where we live. If we don’t do this, we’re going to die here.”

In the weeks that followed, Diego watched Eric grow more distant. At first, it was just small tasks: unloading trucks, carrying crates, delivering sealed packages. Eric came back with a few chips in his pocket, enough to buy food for a day or two. But for Diego, every time he saw Eric take on another job, it felt like an invisible rope was pulling his friend further away.

“Don’t you see what’s happening?” Diego confronted Eric one night as they ate stale bread and canned meat on the roof. “They’re using you. They pull you in with easy work, then more, and more, until you can’t get out.”

Eric sighed, exasperated. “You always do this. You always think you know better than everyone else.” He pointed at Diego, his voice edged with anger. “I’m trying to help us! You think this is easy? That I like it? That I don’t think about everything that could go wrong?”

Eric paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. “We have nothing, Diego.”

Diego fell silent, his chest tightening. He wanted to believe Eric was wrong, but deep down, he knew his friend was right. They had nothing. But that didn’t make Eric’s choices feel any less wrong.

The jobs grew bolder—and deadlier. Eric began slipping out under the cover of darkness, returning at dawn with hollow eyes and pockets so stuffed with chips they spilled onto the floor like loose change. Diego noticed he had stopped talking about what he had done. Then one day, when Diego saw Eric holding an analog communicator, he knew something had changed.

“What’s that for now? You’re warning them when the cops are coming?” Diego asked, incredulous, as Eric tested the radio, its dim LED light casting flickering shadows on his face.

Eric shrugged, not looking up. “It’s not like the cops do anything for us. And they pay me well for it.”

“This isn’t just unloading crates anymore, Eric,” Diego said, his voice hard as steel. “You’re one of them now. You’re keeping their grip on this place tight. You know what that means.”

Eric froze, setting the radio down. He stood, turning to face Diego with a hardened expression. “You don’t get it, Diego. You don’t want to get it. Someone has to do something so we can survive because you and your high morals aren’t helping. I’m sick of listening to you and all your talk.”

Diego stared back, the distance between them widening. He wanted to say something—scream, hit Eric, do anything to stop his friend from sinking deeper into this abyss. But in the end, he just turned and walked away.

In the days that followed, Diego saw less and less of Eric. They still shared the same alleys and rooftops, but it felt like they lived in separate worlds. Diego knew Eric was more involved than ever, but he avoided confronting him.

Until one quiet night, when concern finally overcame Diego, he decided to follow Eric, staying hidden in the shadows. With his heart pounding, he watched as Eric joined a group of men. They carried long weapons, swinging them casually as if they were harmless toys, but Diego knew better.

The district shrouded in the stillness of the early hours, felt more threatening than ever. Every sound echoed off the narrow alley walls—the group’s footsteps, the creak of windows in the wind, the distant hum of a faulty generator. Diego crouched behind a pile of debris, his eyes locked on Eric’s figure among the men.

The group made their way through dark alleys, eventually stopping in front of one of the few shops still open in that forgotten corner of the district. The shopkeeper, Robert, was a familiar figure in the community, known for fixing electronics and selling basic goods.

Under the flickering blue glow of a neon sign, Diego saw Eric hesitate at the shop’s entrance, as though searching for an escape. Before he could step back, one of the men grabbed him and pulled him inside.

Robert raised his hands, his movements slow and weary. “I’ve already paid this month,” he said, his voice frayed with exhaustion, as though he’d uttered the same plea too many times before.

The leader, a burly man with a prosthetic arm, slammed his weapon against the counter. “Doesn’t matter. If we’re here, it means you still owe. Pay up.”

The shopkeeper tried to reason with them, but the group began tearing the store apart, toppling shelves and scattering food and parts across the floor. When Robert tried to intervene, the leader grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the counter. The punches came next—dry, brutal.

Eric, who had remained still until now, stepped forward. “That’s enough… he’s already down,” he said, his voice hesitant.

The leader stopped and turned to Eric, laughing with disdain. “Enough?” He pulled a pistol from his holster and shoved it into Eric’s hands. “Then pull the trigger.”

Outside, Diego’s breath hitched as he watched Eric freeze in place, his gaze flitting helplessly between the leader’s cold smirk and the shopkeeper crumpled at his feet. “I can’t… this isn’t me…” Eric murmured, but the leader pressed the gun against his chest.

“Do it, or you’re not walking out of here.”

With trembling hands, Eric took the gun. For a moment, Diego thought he might refuse. But then the shot rang out. Dry. Final.

Robert collapsed to the floor, lifeless. Blood pooled across the ground, and the shop fell into a chilling silence. Diego watched, paralyzed, as Eric stood frozen, his eyes locked on the weapon in his hands. The leader clapped him on the back, laughing. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

Eric handed the gun back in silence, his shoulders sagging under a weight that seemed to crush him with every step as he trailed after the group. Diego stayed hidden, watching as his friend disappeared into the alleys. He knew with painful certainty that this was no longer the Eric he once knew.

When the group was gone, Diego slipped into the wrecked shop. Robert’s body lay among the debris, his face frozen in a mask of terror. Something inside Diego broke. Eric was lost.

Diego’s fists curled tightly, his anger burning white-hot in his chest. He didn’t know how or when, but he vowed that Eric would pay—for Robert, for the district, for the bond they had shattered beyond repair.

***

Leo whispered again, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his heart. The weight of the moment pressed on him like a vice. “What are we going to do?” He glanced at Diego’s rigid stance, wondering if his silence meant confidence—or dread.

Diego didn’t answer right away. His eyes were locked on one of the Vanguard agents, and something in his posture shifted. It wasn’t fear that held him still. It was something deeper, something Leo couldn’t quite grasp.

“Diego?” Leo asked again, his voice uncertain.

As Diego moved, his steps cautious and deliberate, Leo became acutely aware of the cold concrete beneath his feet and the stale air pressing into his lungs. Every sound—the scuff of a boot, the creak of a box—felt amplified, like the warehouse itself was holding its breath. Leo watched him closely, trying to understand what was happening. Then he heard Diego murmur, more to himself than to anyone else.

“Eric.”

The name seemed to hang in the air, heavy with a weight Leo didn’t understand. The man in question stopped mid-conversation, as though sensing Diego’s presence. Slowly, he turned, his cold eyes meeting Diego’s.

For a moment, the two men stared at each other. The air between them grew electric, charged with an unspoken fury.

“Diego,” Eric said, his lips curved into a deliberate smirk, empty of warmth but brimming with calculation. “At last.”

As Diego and Eric stared each other down, Leo felt an overwhelming sense of displacement. He had entered a world far beyond his understanding—a history etched in their gazes, a conflict that carried scars he couldn’t see. It was like walking into the middle of a battle already lost. The way they looked at each other was different, as though an unspoken conversation was unfolding in the silence.

Diego took another step forward, his jaw tight. “You knew this would happen.”

Eric tilted his head slightly, the smile lingering. “Of course. I always knew you’d come.”

Leo opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. What could he possibly say? The sheer intensity in Diego’s eyes froze him, a stark reminder of how out of his depth he was. Yet, the urge to step in, to stop whatever this was, gnawed at him. He could feel the air between them crackling with tension as if something was about to erupt.

Diego’s fist rose, and for a fleeting moment, Leo caught a glimpse of something raw—an icy resolve cloaked in the shadows of unyielding pain.

“It’s time,” Diego said quietly.

Eric stepped forward, his movements almost casual, but his eyes had a deadly glint.

“Then come.”