Taking out the general

The door slammed hard behind Nathan.

He locked it fast, clicking every lock at full speed. The second lock, too. His back hit the door, and he was breathing like he had run ten miles. There was sweat on his neck and dust on his shoes.

Inside the small living room, his mother, Grace Hills, looked up from the pot. His father, Thomas Hills, was sitting down, fixing his work belt. His little sister, Lily, fourteen, was doing her school assignment on the floor.

Everyone went quiet.

"Nathan?" his mother said, standing up quickly. "What did you do? Why are you locking the door in daylight?"

Nathan didn't answer. His eyes were fixed on the door, and his hand was still gripping the lock.

Before he could speak, the banging started.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

It wasn't a knock. It sounded like someone was trying to break the wood with their fists.

"WILL YOU OPEN THIS DOOR!" a voice shouted from outside. It was heavy, a military voice.

Then came another bang, and the whole door shook.

His mother panicked and ran to the door.

"Nathan, you have caused trouble!" she shouted at him, trying to pull his hand away from the lock. "Have you fought someone again? Open it before they break our house!"

"Nathan, move," his father said, getting to his feet. Thomas was fifty, but he was strong, with broad shoulders. "If you did something, let us talk to them. Don't hide."

Nathan's hand was shaking. "Don't open it, Mum. Don't."

But his mother had already turned the key. She thought she was saving him from trouble. She thought it was the police because Nathan had missed school, or maybe the neighborhood boys.

She opened the door just a small crack to talk.

The door was pushed in from outside with brutal force.

His mother was thrown backward. She hit the center table and fell, and the pot of soup fell with her, spilling across the floor.

And they entered.

General Varric.

He didn't need to introduce himself. Everyone on Hills Street knew that face: tall, clean uniform, gloves, cold eyes. Behind him came six soldiers in heavy boots, rifles slung over their shoulders. They weren't holding the rifles. They were holding eviction papers and iron rods.

He didn't look at Nathan. He looked around the house as if he were already measuring it for himself.

"So this is the Hills house," Varric said calmly. "Still standing. I am impressed."

Thomas stepped forward, placing himself between Varric and his wife on the floor. "General, why are you forcing your way into my house? Why did you push my wife?"

Varric finally looked at him. He gave a small, polite smile that was worse than shouting.

"Thomas Hills," Varric said. He took a folded paper from his pocket and dropped it onto the wet floor. "This street is now under the State Reclaim Act. All properties from number twelve to number forty belong to the government, effective yesterday. You were supposed to move out on your own this morning. You did not."

"We received no notice," Thomas said, his fists tight. "This is our property. My father built this house with his own hands forty years ago. We have documents. We have rights."

Varric tilted his head. "Your rights expired when I signed that paper. Would you like to see my signature? It is very beautiful."

One of the soldiers behind him laughed.

Thomas picked up the paper from the floor. It was soaked with soup, but he tried to read it anyway. It was a single page with a red stamp: EVACUATE WITHIN 24 HOURS OR BE EVACUATED.

"We are not moving anywhere," Thomas said. He tore the paper and threw the pieces at Varric's feet. "Get out of my house."

The room went dead silent.

Nathan saw the change in Varric's eyes. It was quick, like a switch being flipped.

"You tore a government order," Varric said softly, "and you threw it at a General."

He looked at his soldiers and gave a small nod.

The first soldier stepped forward and punched Thomas in the stomach. It was a hard, professional punch.

Thomas bent over, groaning. Grace screamed.

"Nathan, help your father!" his mother cried.

Nathan lunged forward, but two soldiers grabbed him at once and pinned his arms behind his back. He struggled, but they were trained. They kneed his leg, and he went down on one knee.

Despite the pain, Thomas stood back up, blood in his mouth now. He looked at Varric.

"You will not enter my house and beat my family," Thomas said, his voice low and dangerous.

Varric didn't move. He simply said, "I already have."

Thomas roared and charged. He wasn't a soldier, but he was a strong, hardworking man. He grabbed Varric by the collar and slammed him against the wall. The wall cracked.

For a second, it looked like Thomas had him.

Varric's gloves were dirty now. He stared at them as though that were the greatest insult of all.

Then he punched Thomas back, one blow, straight to the jaw. Thomas's head snapped sideways.

While Thomas was dizzy, the other soldiers entered fully. There were more than six now. They were coming in through the back door and through the windows, trooping in as if they owned the place.

Lily screamed and ran to her mother. Grace held her tightly on the floor.

A soldier grabbed Lily's schoolbooks and threw them out of the window.

"Leave our things!" Grace shouted, trying to stand, but another soldier pushed her back down.

Nathan was still held. He was shouting now. "Leave them! Leave my family! Take me! It was me who locked the door!"

Varric walked over to Nathan, who was on his knees, held by the soldiers. He crouched down so they were eye to eye. He smelled of expensive cologne and iron.

"Why did you lock the door, Nathan?" Varric asked quietly, almost friendly. "Did you know we were coming? Did someone warn you?"

Nathan spat near his boot. "This is our house."

Varric smiled. He stood up and looked at Thomas, who was bleeding from the nose, trying to shield his wife and daughter with his own body on the floor.

"Thomas Hills," Varric said loudly, so the whole house could hear, "you have a son with attitude, and a wife who opens doors when she should not. Tomorrow, I will come back with twenty men, not six. With trucks, not papers. If you are still in this house tomorrow morning, we will throw you out, and we will not be gentle. This is my last warning."

He turned to leave, then stopped. Through the back window, he could see the small dry well behind the house. It was shallow, made of old bricks.

He said to one of the soldiers, "Mark that well. If they try to hide inside it, cover it."

Then they left, just like that. Boots gone, door broken, soup on the floor, blood on Thomas's mouth, and Nathan's family on the ground, holding each other.

Grace was crying, clutching Lily. "Thomas, we should pack. We should leave. He will kill us."

Thomas wiped the blood from his mouth with his hand. His eyes were red, not with tears but with rage. He looked at his wife and said something that made Nathan's blood run cold.

"No," Thomas said. "I am not moving. I built this house. Let him bring twenty men. Let him bring fifty. I have my hands. I have my three friends from work. I will fight him, and I will bring that General down myself tomorrow, in front of this whole street."

Nathan, still on the floor, looked at his father. Then he looked at the broken door. He could hear Varric's trucks outside and more boots gathering.

He knew his father was going to die tomorrow.

An

d there was nothing he could do, locked inside that house tonight.