- Pick your battles.

  - Run if you feel like losing, and fight like hell otherwise.

  - You're here to survive, not to win. This isn’t a video game—you don’t get bonus points for dying in a blaze of glory.

  ---

  It started off like any other scav run. We were trailing smoke from a building 7 blocks north of... Gym Womb (Ew... I still can't believe she named her place that), hoping some careless jackass had left behind food, batteries, or, god forbid, chocolate. But when we reached the edge of the ruins... we saw them.

  Not zombies. Worse.

  People.

  Big truck parked outside. Loud voices. Laughing. Music. Spotlights.

  We peeked from the rooftop of a burned-out diner. Down below, the fire department and the police station—once symbols of order—were repainted with graffiti and wrapped in makeshift fencing and barbed wire. The bandits had turned the place into a fortress.

  “Classy,” I muttered, scanning the compound from far away. “Nothing says power like a turret made of two shopping carts and a traffic cone.”

  Alex was quiet beside me. “Elliot,” she said. “Look, they have a lot of stuff." She pointed to a part of the... Fortress.

  I did.

  But when I looked there, I wasn't looking at the supply crates and the like. I was focused on who's carrying them

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  There she was. Jules. Carrying a heavy crate with other people. Flanked by two goons in mismatched tactical gear, one of whom looked like he ate protein powder straight from the tub.

  Sh didn’t look like a prisoner. But she sure as hell didn’t look free either. Her shoulders were tense, her eyes vacant. Not scared—just... resigned.

  “That’s Jules.” I said...

  "Who?" Alex whispered.

  "Long story..."

  My heartbeat thudded like a war drum.

  Part of me wanted to rush in. Guns blazing. Hero’s entrance. Confront Jules. Burn the place down. Take the bandit fortress like it was Fort Knox on discount.

  But I’ve survived this long because I listen to my instincts.

  And right now, they were screaming: This is a bad idea.

  There were at least twenty of them. Trained. Armed. Secure in their defenses. And me? I had one sawed-off, a crowbar, a frying pan, and a girl with anxiety and a powerful superpower called paranoia.

  Not ideal odds.

  ---

  We slipped back into the alleyway, ducked into the nearest abandoned apartment, and caught our breath.

  Alex sat against the wall, knees pulled up to her chest. “We’re not strong enough to fight them. Not yet.”

  I nodded. “Which means we get smart. We plan. We pick our moment.”

  I pulled out my journal and flipped to a blank page.

  Objectives:

  1. Ransack the bandits (because we’re broke).

  2. Talk to Jules (because I’m not done with her).

  3. Take the hideout (because living in an Overhole is starting to suck, don't tell Alex).

  I drew a crude map of the compound from memory. “We don’t have to do all three. Not at once.”

  Alex looked hesitant. “You think this... Jules is working with them?”

  “I think,” I said carefully, “she’s surviving. Same as us. But I need to know if she chose that... or if she was forced.”

  She didn’t reply. Just stared at the scuffed floor.

  So I leaned over and tapped the paper. “Hey. We’re not storming the gates today. That’s not the kind of game we’re playing.”

  Her eyes met mine. “Then what kind are we playing?”

  I grinned. “The kind where you flip the board when no one’s looking.”

  ---

  We spent the next few hours reconning from a safe distance. Marked supply drops. Counted patrol rotations. Tracked where the bandits stored their gear, and where the noise came from at night.

  All the while, one thought looped in my head:

  Know your worth.

  This isn’t about pride. It’s not about revenge.

  It’s about being smart.

  It’s about survival.

  And survival means knowing when to fight…

  …and when to prepare to fight later.