The announcement of martial law came swiftly after the panic reached a fever pitch. Across the globe, every major city echoed with the sounds of helicopters, armored vehicles, and the heavy boots of soldiers patrolling the streets. The government, hoping to restore order and prevent the mayhem from spiraling further out of control, had deployed military forces to enforce curfews, secure essential resources, and control the masses.

But in the shadows of this new reality, gangs and violent organizations thrived. They had seen the fear take root and knew how to exploit it.

In New York, Carlos “Snake” Martinez, leader of the local street gang known as the Vipers, watched as the National Guard rolled down the streets from his apartment balcony. A sinister grin spread across his face.

"Looks like the government's doing all the hard work for us," he said, lighting a cigarette and leaning back in his chair. His lieutenant, Marco, stood beside him, arms crossed.

“Yeah, boss. They got the people scared half to death. You want to make a move?”

Carlos nodded. "Oh, we’re making moves alright. While the government’s busy locking everyone down, we’re gonna sweep through the supply chains. People are desperate—they’ll pay anything for food, water, weapons. And we’re the ones who are gonna provide it."

Marco smirked. "What about the cops? The military?"

"They’re spread too thin. They’re trying to control ‘everyone‘. All we gotta do is hit fast, hit hard, and disappear. We’ll be like ghosts."

Across town, a similar conversation was taking place in a dingy warehouse where a different group had gathered—The Steel Brotherhood, a notorious biker gang. Their leader, Razor, sat at the head of a long, oil-stained table, his knuckles covered in tattoos as he cracked them.

“Martial law,” Razor growled, his gravelly voice filling the room. “The government thinks they can lock us down. Tell us when to go home, when to eat, when to breathe. I say screw ‘em.”

The gang members around the table cheered, fists pounding on the surface.

“They’re gonna be too busy keeping people in line,” Razor continued. “But us? We’re gonna take what we want. They ain’t gonna stop us, not when we’ve got the firepower.”

One of the younger members, Twitch, looked up nervously. “But what if they come after us, man? I mean, they’ve got tanks out there.”

Razor snorted. “Let ‘em come. We ain’t hiding. We own these streets now. People are gonna be begging for protection. And we’ll give it to ‘em—for a price.”

And it wasn’t just street-level gangs. More organized, violent groups saw an opportunity to expand their power.

In Eastern Europe, a warlord named Ivan "The Hammer" Kravchenko had been quietly building his militia for years. When the portals started, he moved quickly, taking over entire towns under the guise of "protection." Now, with martial law spreading, Ivan’s grip tightened.

In his compound, surrounded by armed guards, Ivan reviewed a map of the region with his top advisors.

“Martial law is good for us,” Ivan said, his thick Russian accent adding weight to every word. “The governments are too distracted. They will focus on their own people, their cities. But the countryside? It belongs to us.”

His advisor, Nikolai, nodded. “And the weapons caches we took from the military last month—they’re ready.”

Ivan grinned. “Good. When the people realize they can’t rely on their governments, they’ll turn to us. We’ll be their only option.”

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Meanwhile, in cities like Los Angeles, Osaka, and London, small-time criminals were suddenly seizing neighbourhoods, marking territories with graffiti, breaking into homes and businesses, and charging exorbitant prices for protection. Violent turf wars erupted overnight, with gangs fighting each other over control of now-valuable resources. The police, stretched thin and overwhelmed by the sheer volume of unrest, were powerless to stop them.

In Mexico, drug cartels, which already had power in many regions, saw the situation as an opportunity to expand their influence even further. Cartel leaders met in secret, discussing how to use the global chaos to their advantage. Smuggling routes flourished, not just for drugs but for weapons, food, and essential supplies.

“We control everything now,” one cartel boss said to his group. “The borders mean nothing. We make the rules.”

As martial law continued, the government found itself not just battling panic and disorder from civilians, but facing a rising tide of organized crime. What was meant to bring stability only deepened the problem, as the dark underbelly of society found ways to manipulate the fear and desperation of the people.

And all the while, people continued to vanish through the portals. As they did, the world they left behind plunged further into anarchy.

‘‘‘‘

Hong Sha pulled the curtains shut, his heart pounding as the chants outside grew louder. “Tell us the truth! Tell us the truth!” echoed through the streets, the mob showing no signs of leaving. He pressed his back against the wall, breathing heavily. The situation had spiralled out of control faster than he could have ever imagined.

‘They think I know something,‘ he thought, running a hand through his hair. ‘They think that I know the truth about the portals. But I’ve already told the government everything. There’s nothing else.’

The offer from the government replayed in his mind—safe housing, secure from the public eye. At first, he had refused, wanting to believe that the situation would pass. But now, as he stood in his own home, feeling like a prisoner, the weight of the decision pressed on him. ‘I need to go. Staying here is a mistake.‘

Suddenly, a loud crash outside jolted him from his thoughts. Someone had thrown a rock at his window, shattering the glass. The chanting intensified, and the mob grew bolder.

“Show your face, Hong Sha!” one voice shouted.

Another rock followed, bouncing off the frame of his front door. He couldn’t wait any longer. Hong Sha grabbed his phone, dialing the number the government had given him.

“This is Hong Sha,” he whispered frantically when the line picked up. “I need to move to the secure location. Now.”

The response was immediate. “Understood, Mr. Sha. Stay inside. We’re sending a team to extract you. ETA, 10 minutes.”

Ten minutes felt like an eternity as the noise outside escalated. The mob had started to bang on his front door now, fists and signs pounding against the wood, demanding answers. He didn’t dare look out the window again, but he could hear their frustration, their desperation.

In the midst of it all, he couldn’t help but think of the actors from ‘Atlas Back to the Present’. A few had already been taken, treated like they were somehow in on the whole portal conspiracy. Some people had convinced themselves that the show held hidden truths, messages from the so-called “Portal Association.” The poor actors were being treated like emissaries, like they knew how to stop the portals—or worse, that they were responsible for them.

The rumors had started innocently enough. People claiming they saw patterns in the show, hidden clues in the scripts. But then the disappearances began, and paranoia spread like wildfire. Soon, some of the cast had been kidnapped by people looking for answers, and now even Hong Sha, a simple show producer, was caught in the crosshairs.

As the minutes ticked by, the mob outside became more agitated. Someone tried the doorknob, and for a brief moment, Hong Sha feared they would break in. His breath caught in his throat, eyes glued to the door as it rattled in its frame.

Then, just as he thought all hope was lost, the sound of helicopters and military trucks filled the air. The thrum of engines drowned out the crowd, and through the gaps in the curtains, he saw armed soldiers and riot police pushing back the mob.

A knock at his back door—two taps, a pause, then three more. The extraction team.

“We’re here to get you out, sir,” one of them said when he opened the door.

He nodded, unable to find the words, and quickly grabbed the small bag he had packed earlier. As they led him out the back, away from the rowdy mob, he cast one last glance at his home. The crowd was still there, but now they were being dispersed, held back by shields and batons.

Hong Sha climbed into the armored vehicle waiting for him, the door slamming shut behind him. The noise of the mob faded as they drove away, but the unease remained.

‘Even if I’m safe now,‘ he thought, ‘this isn’t over. The fear, the paranoia—it’s definitely going to get worse.‘

And as the vehicle sped toward the government’s secure facility, he couldn’t shake the feeling that no place would truly be safe as long as the portals kept appearing.