RONAN The double doors leading into the event hall looked the same as they always had. They had not physically changed from the many times I had stood in front of them before. In the past, those doors had always filled me with warmth. They marked the line between the ordinary world and whatever celebration waited on the other side. Pushing them open usually meant stepping into color, music, laughter, and the smell of good food. In my memory, they stood tall and bright, almost glowing. They felt like gateways to happiness. Standing there now, everything was different. My left hand rested flat against the copper plate between the doors. My right hand hovered close, gripping the pistol. The doors felt wrong. The instant my skin touched the metal, it was as if all my strength drained away. Looking up at the white surface, it no longer seemed bright. The color felt faded, heavy, and cold. The height of the doors pressed down on me, forcing my head to dip forward until my chin nearly touched my chest. Even the air felt thick, as if it was working against me, stealing the will I needed to move. The last time I had come through these doors had been for a wedding. Flowers and incense had filled the hall, making the place feel like a paradise. Now every breath carried the smell of death, and each inhale warned me of what waited ahead. “We don’t have to do this,” Nguyen said. He stood with his back against the wall, eyes fixed on the hallway behind us, watching for danger. A deep breath dragged through my chest, rough and unsteady. “Could you turn away if it was your family?” I asked. Silence followed. Nguyen finally spoke. “I’ll open the left door and clear that side. You take the right.” No answer came from me. My body shifted on its own, placing me in front of the right door. The pistol moved into my left hand so my right could push. Nguyen frowned. “Use your shoulder,” he said. “Keep the gun in your right hand.” The instruction landed, and I followed it. My shoulder pressed against the door, muscles tight. Nguyen took position at the left door, shoulder against the copper plate. He met my eyes and nodded. Both doors were forced open. The moment I stepped through, everything stopped. Somewhere behind me, Nguyen continued his sweep to the left. The door swung shut again. None of that mattered.The world froze while I stood on the carpet just inside the hall, staring straight ahead. Death filled the space. The sight hit me all at once, snapping into focus like a cruel memory. Stacks of cell phones came to mind as I stared at towers of bodies arranged across the hall. Men, women, children. All ages. All kinds of clothing. They were piled on top of one another with careful precision, stacked nearly ten feet high, lined up in perfect rows. Every body was placed with one goal in mind. Stability. Efficiency. Something heavy dropped inside my chest and sank straight down to my feet. The feeling barely registered before it vanished, swallowed by the horror in front of me. This was not chaos. This was organized. Human lives reduced to building blocks. People were treated as materials, not as souls. Somewhere within these piles, my family was waiting to be found. Breathing stopped. My pulse thundered in my ears. Eyes stayed locked on the nearest stack. Fear crushed everything else. A heavy hand landed on my shoulder. My body reacted before thought could catch up. I spun and swung, trying to strike whatever touched me. A powerful grip caught my fist in midair. Nguyen stood inches away, hands locked on my shoulders. His mouth moved, but no sound reached me. Air burned in my chest. That was when I realized I was not breathing. When had that happened? My mouth opened wide. Air rushed in, harsh and desperate. The stench did not matter. Shoulders heaved as I gulped breath after breath. Vision tried to drift back toward the bodies. Nguyen grabbed my head, pulling my face close to his. Close enough to smell his breath through the rot in the air. He was shouting now. The words still did not connect. Hands shoved against his chest. The need to return to the stacks screamed louder than anything else. My family was in there. They had to be. Pain exploded across my cheek. Sound snapped back into place. “You with me now?” Nguyen barked. Tears blurred my vision. Fingers touched my cheek, already swelling and bruised. A weak nod followed. “Yes,” I said. “Good. Now pick up your weapon,” he said. “And I swear to your gods, if you drop it again, I will shove my foot so far up your ass you will taste the dog shit I stepped in yesterday.”