Creeping out of the bedroom, staring across the living room, he saw the front door to his home cracked open. A heavy bookcase was still keeping it mostly shut, but the emergency barricade was slowly inching back, as someone on the other side of the door continued to throw their weight against it.

Nester crept deeper into the room, hiding in the dark, waiting to see who or what was trying to enter his home. The thought of looters crossed his mind instantly, petty thugs being very common during the trying times of a plague. So many utilized the hardship as an excuse to forsake the laws of God and commit untold sins.

As one more thud pushed the bookcase a hair more, an arm squeezed into Nester's view. Pale moonlight shining through a window illuminated the strange hand, clothed in a leather glove, with three elongated fingers gripping at the edge of the door frame.

Nester maneuvered into the kitchen and knelt down behind the counter, where he kept a close eye on the intruders who continued their assault on the door. Each thud shoved the dresser another inch, and as the gap grew wider, the masked hoodlums slid inside, preparing to perpetrate whatever crime was on their minds.

With his targets in sight, Nester made his presence known. “Freeze!” he demanded, resting the barrel of his revolver on the countertop.

The intruders had no intention of obeying, and immediately grew hostile. One raised a shadowed object in his right hand and poked at it with his left, bringing it to life. After a few clicks, the oblong object ejected a plume of flame from one end, and with the hoodlum’s masterful aim, the fire reached out, setting the kitchen counter aflame.

Wasting no more time on pleasantries, Nester opened fire with his revolver, his aim aided by the light of the flames raging before him. Two golden bullets ripped through the air, and each found a resting place in the body of the torch-wielding man. A third blast sounded, and Nester’s shot went straight into the chest of the other man, who stumbled to the ground in agony.

The torch rattled to the ground, its fire still blazing, lighting up the wicker couch. As the flames spread, the smoke began to fill the small living quarters.

Nester tried in vain to extinguish the flames, filling several tall glasses with tap water, but it was no use. The fire was fueled by a sticky accelerant which water could not quench.

With the flames growing, Nester rushed into the living room to assure that the intruders were dead. The one who had held the torch was clearly deceased, a great spattering of blood coating his clothing, the crimson pattern clearly illuminated by the surrounding flames.

Turning to the second man, Nester felt a hand grab his ankle. The grasp was strong, and he found himself unable to break free.

Drawing his weapon, Nester leveled his aim at the face of the intruder who held his leg captive. The masked brute had a hole in his chest, with a steady stream of blood spewing forth. It was doubtful the man had long to live, which gave him nothing to lose.

“How could you do this?” the man asked in a deep, hoarse hiss.

“You broke into my house; set it ablaze!” Nester cursed, stabbing the air with his revolver.

“But how? You don’t have a permit,” the man said, using his free hand to point at Nester’s gun.

“How would you know?” Nester asked, feeling a chill roll down his spine.

“I’m a sanctifier clerk. I knew it would be safe here. You didn’t have a gun permit.” With a short gasping fit, the man gave up the ghost, and his body grew limp, releasing Nester’s ankle.

With the flames growing high and spreading, Grisha poked her head out of the bedroom and saw the horrific sight. She ducked back inside for a moment to grab proper clothing, and rushed to Nester’s side among the inferno.

Grisha’s stomach turned sour as she stared upon the blood-soaked floor, and the limp bodies extruding it.

“Dear lord, Nester. What have you done?”

“I did what I had to do, or else we’d both be dead right now,” Nester said, fighting off a quiver in his voice.

“Who are they? Why did they come after us?”

“I don’t know,” Nester said, prying off one of the masks. “This one claimed to be a sanctifier clerk.”

As Nester yanked the mask away from the second intruder’s face, Grisha’s stomach turned increasingly worse. She felt the foul flavor of stomach acid at the back of her throat as she locked eyes with the dead man.

“I know that face,” she said, swallowing profusely. Once she steadied herself, she added, “He was the bank teller on duty when I withdrew my life savings last week.”

“So, these two knew we had money, and thought we had no means of protecting ourselves. The perfect crime, if they’d been right.”

The smoke grew thick, and the time for idle chat was over. Grisha gathered up an armful of books and ran for the door.

Following his wife, Nester locked his eyes onto Sophia’s coat, draped over his diningroom table. The fire-resistant material of the clothing lay untouched by the flames, and Nester snatched it as he rushed by, and was wearing it before he hit the midnight air.

Grisha and Nester darted out into the street, and watched as the fire consumed the small dwelling that had sheltered them during the infancy of their marriage.

As the house burned, Grisha stared down at Nester’s hand, and saw how he clutched his firearm for dear life, as if it were an extra appendage.

“Nester, do you have any idea what the Hierarchy will do to you if they catch you with that gun?”

“A mandatory life sentence in prison, with seasonal forced labor,” Nester said, holding the gun up for Grisha to study. “All for bearing an unregistered weapon, be it a handgun, musket, or sword.”

“Why take such a chance, Nes?”

“Your answer’s burning in front of us,” Nester said, sliding the revolver into a coat pocket. “Do you not understand the extent of the Hierarchy’s evil? That they would place us at the mercy of such petty thugs and merciless bandits, simply to appease their own fear of civilian uprising? I shall not be a party to my own murder, simply to obey their lunacy.”

With her stomach settling and her mind reeling, Grisha found a seat on the concrete sidewalk and watched as the roof caved in, and flames shot out toward the starry night sky.

“Everyone’s going nuts with the plague running rampant,” Nester said, sitting beside his bride. He placed an arm over her shoulders, trying to comfort her.

“I have an aunt, out in the country. I think she might be amenable to putting us up for a while,” Grisha said, trying to think of a solution to their pending homelessness.