Twelve Hours Later

"The Purge has officially ended, on Sunday, September 23, 2198 at 7:00 a.m.. Please, cease all crime and return home. Cleanup will begin shortly."

The announcement sounded, a soulless echo against the hollow shell of our street, but Carl didn’t flinch. If anything, he squeezed tighter.

My lungs screamed. I clawed at his forearm, nails scraping flesh. The streetlights flickered back to life, a cruel reminder that the worst part was after. After the bloodshed, after the adrenaline drained and the world expected us to return to “normal.”

But normal wasn’t ever going to exist again—not for me.

"Come on, man! Ease up! The Purge is over!" I cried as I tried to twist out of his grasp.

"Shut up! If it wasn't for you, I'd still be with Maggie." His breath reeked of stolen alcohol, and I gagged. I slammed my knee into his ribs. He grunted and jerked, and I tore free. My vision swam. The world tilted. I hit the pavement hard, knees flaring with pain.

I was free.

“You ruined everything,” Carl slurred, swaying as he staggered toward me. “She stopped talking to me after that night at your house.”

“That wasn’t my fault, Carl!” I shouted, scrambling to my feet. My voice cracked. “You’ve been controlling her for months. You pushed her too far. I didn’t make her leave—you did.”

He lunged, a clumsy tackle. I sidestepped, barely, and he crashed into the neighbor’s trash bins. Bottles shattered beneath him, the stench of spoiled milk and rotting leftovers hitting the air like a plague.

I should have run. I wanted to run. But the thing about The Purge is—when you survive it, when you spend twelve hours knowing the people around you are capable of murder—you lose something. And you gain something too.

Fear and fire.

I stood there, watching Carl writhe in the garbage, and I realized: this was going to leave a scar.

On both of us.

“Stay down, Carl,” I said, breath hitching. “It’s over.”

“You think she’ll love you now?” he spat. “You think she’s gonna run into your arms and kiss you for saving her from the crazy ex? Please. She doesn’t even like you.”

His words struck sharper than they should’ve. My hands curled into fists. Not because he was right—but because a part of me was afraid he might be.

A door slammed somewhere down the block. Porch lights clicked on like dominos, one house after another flickering awake, everyone surfacing from the same nightmare. Faces appeared in windows—hollow-eyed, afraid to step outside even though the all-clear had sounded.

“You’re done, Carl,” I said. “If the cops don’t get you, Maggie will. She’s not scared of you anymore.”

He sneered, blood trickling from a cut above his eyebrow. “No one’s scared of me now. That’s the problem.” He reached into his coat.

“Don’t—” I started.

Too late.

He pulled out a knife. I backed up, heartbeat rioting. There were still no sirens, no distant sounds of rescue. The world was waking up, but not fast enough.

Carl stumbled to his feet, knife gleaming in the streetlight. “If I’m going down, you're coming with me.”

This is it, I thought. This is the end for me.

I turned my head, scanning for anything—anyone.

That’s when I saw them.

Amber eyes.

Peeking from behind a nearby dumpster.

Maggie.

What in the world was she doing here?

Her eyes were wide with terror, reflecting the harsh glow of the streetlights above. She gasped—a small, shattering sound that tore through the night like a siren.

Carl’s knife faltered in the air as his gaze snapped to her. His drunken bravado twisted into desperation. “Maggie... wait, please. I didn’t mean—”

His voice cracked, like a broken record.

Maggie shook her head, stepping out cautiously, head raised but hands trembling. “No, Carl. It’s over. The Purge is over. You don’t get to do this anymore. You can’t just hurt people and walk away like it’s nothing.”

His eyes flickered with fury, the alcohol and rejection fueling a dangerous edge. “You think you’re better than me? I’m not done with you. I’m not done with any of you.”

Sirens now. Still distant, but growing louder.

Maggie backed up, voice steady despite her shaking legs. “I’m not going back. Not with you.”

Carl’s face darkened. Rage surged.

Without warning, he surged forward, grabbing her roughly by the wrist and yanking her down to the cracked pavement.

The knife flashed.

Maggie screamed, struggling against him.

My heart stopped.

This wasn’t some game.

This was real.

I sprinted forward, grabbing the nearest thing—an ugly, jagged rock discarded near the curb.

Carl raised the blade. It dragged across Maggie’s arm, leaving a shallow, red trail. She screamed again, in terror, in pain.

I didn’t think.

I struck.

I raised the rock and slammed it down onto Carl’s skull.

Crack.

Blood splattered across the pavement, hot and sticky. His head jerked violently, but he snarled, raising the knife again.

Again, I swung.

Crack.

His body twitched. His grip slipped.

And again.

Crack.

Crack.

Until finally, he collapsed in a broken heap.

Maggie whimpered, clutching her arm, tears streaked her dirt-smudged face. I dropped the dripping rock, trembling, chest heaving.

The sirens were closer now. The world was finally coming back to life. Flashing red and blue lights sliced through the fading darkness.

Carl lay sprawled on the cracked pavement, a dark, spreading stain pooling beneath him. His face was twisted—an angry, broken mask that now lay still.

My knees buckled and the warm, sticky puddle beneath Carl soaked into my jeans. Maggie sat beside me, trembling, one hand pressed against her bleeding arm, the other gripping my sleeve like a lifeline. Her eyes were wide with shock, reflecting the flashing red and blue lights that finally reached us, a warning and a promise all at once.

“Put your hands where we can see them!” The officer’s voice was sharp and unforgiving.

I raised my bloodied hands, the taste of iron sharp on my tongue. “Please—please listen,” I begged, voice raw and cracking. “I didn’t want this. He attacked Maggie. The Purge was over, and he pulled a knife. It was self-defense!”

Two officers rushed in, cuffing me without hesitation. Others knelt beside Carl. One checked his pulse—then shook his head.

Dead.

Carl was dead.

Relief didn’t come.

Only guilt.

“I acted in self-defense,” I said again, numb. "Self-defense..."

Maggie’s voice trembled as she spoke beside me. “He was hurting me. I tried to run. He caught me—he was going to—”

She couldn’t finish.

A sob cut through her words. She pressed harder to her bleeding arm.

An officer turned to her, voice gentler. “We’ll get you medical help. You’re safe now.”

I stared at Carl’s body.

So much anger.

So much pain.

Why did it have to come to this?

“This isn’t how it was supposed to go,” I whispered. “I didn’t want to kill him. I just wanted to stop him.” An officer yanked me to my feet.

The street was alive now with emergency crews, blinking lights, and neighbors spilling out into the aftermath.

Voices murmured behind me—questions, rumors.

Blame.

I felt exposed, naked under their stares.

Some cried out for me, saying I did the right thing.

Others scoffed, claiming murder is murder.

As I was pushed into the back of a police car, I heard myself pleading self defense again.

Self-defense. It self-defense. Only was self-defense.

But even I knew the truth.

I could have stopped.

All Carl needed was to be stunned.

I killed him.

But that wasn't what scared me.

It was that I’d do it again in a heartbeat if it meant protecting Maggie.

Because for her—for her safety—

I’d break every rule there is.