Civil Unrest

Plaza Drift Hostel overlooked the square where protests often began. Amir thought it was perfect. He could hear the city breathe from his balcony, could feel its pulse without stepping into it. The day the march started, he went outside with coffee and watched signs rise like sails. The crowd was loud but calm. It looked like a festival, and he told himself he was safe above it.

Jules set up his camera, narrating the chants as if they were part of his travel vlog. Rafa told everyone to stay inside when the police lines moved in. Valentina put a note on the front desk: "Balcony closed during protests." No one listened. Amir leaned over the railing, phone in hand, filming a panorama of the plaza.

The first wave of tear gas drifted up like fog. Amir coughed and wiped his eyes. He could hear sirens now, sharp and angry. The crowd below shifted, a tide moving the wrong way. A bottle shattered on the pavement. Jules shouted, "This is insane," and kept filming.

Valentina rushed into the stairwell to pull people off the balcony, but the automatic lock had already engaged. She pounded on the door and swore, promising she'd fix it later. The hostel’s shutters rattled in the wind, and the smell of gas seeped into the lobby like something alive.

Amir coughed again, the sting in his throat turning into a burn. He tried to wet a towel, but the tap sputtered and stopped. The water had been shut off to prevent damage, a safety measure that felt like another trap.

Jules kept filming until his eyes watered, then dropped the camera and ran.

Amir wiped his eyes with his sleeve and blinked against the burn.

Amir stepped back, thinking he'd go inside, but the balcony door had locked automatically, a security measure he had ignored. He shook the handle and called for help. The gas thickened. He pressed his shirt to his face. His phone buzzed with a comment from @HostelReaper: "Distance is not protection." He frowned, trying to focus on the door.

The rubber bullets began. Amir heard the pops and the screams. He ducked, too late. Something struck his shoulder and knocked him sideways. He hit the railing, his breath exploding from his chest. He slid to the floor, coughing, eyes burning. Jules screamed his name. Valentina ran up the stairs with the master key, her face streaked with tears.

By the time she opened the door, Amir was barely breathing. She dragged him inside, away from the gas, but the damage was done. The ambulance couldn't reach the hostel because the streets were blocked. Rafa ran downstairs to find a route and never returned. The plaza sounded like war.

Amir died in the hallway, his camera still recording the muffled chaos outside. The hostel closed the balcony for good. Jules posted the footage with a warning he didn't really believe in until it was too late. @HostelReaper left the last comment: "Distance is not protection."