"Are you sure this house isn't armed at all?" Thomas asked for the tenth time as he opened the window quietly.

"Yes, I checked." An annoyed voice said through his earpiece.

"I mean, they have such a big house, right? And they have so much stuff, they must be pretty rich."

"And?"

"If they're so rich, why don't they have a security system?"

"Thomas. We've been over this." His friend groaned.

"And are you sure no one is home?" Thomas pressed as he peered inside the room.

"Yes. They're not home at this time of day. But if you don't hurry, they will be home before you even get inside!"

"Alright, alright." Thomas turned down the earpiece (just in case) and quietly walked down the hallway after exiting the room. The walls of the hallway were covered in an assortment of ornaments and photos. Upon examining the photos, he noticed most of them where what seemed to be photos of business agreements or awards, as most of them consisted of the same man shaking someone's hand, sometimes holding a large check or certificate.

"Oi Minho," Thomas said, speaking into the cheap earpiece, "Don't these guys own a bank or something."

He heard a faint reply, Oops! I turned the volume down too much! "Sorry, could you repeat that, Minho, I turned the volume down too much."

He heard his friend groan, "I've been trying to give you directions, but you weren't responding Thomas!" He sighed, "And yes, they do own a bank, as well as a multimillion-dollar corporation. And that is why you are here right now Thomas. They are sure to not miss a few hundred dollars very much as they have billions."

"Right." Thomas walked into a room. It seemed to have been belonging to someone, but it had gone unused for possibly the last six months- judging by the way things were organised and scattered, and the amount of dust on the furniture. "Hey Minho, do these guys have a kid?"

"Yeah, they used to have a son, 17 years old, so a year younger than me."

"Used to?" Thomas echoed.

"He disappeared six months ago, apparently he ran away. Police haven't tracked him down yet."

"Huh." Thomas said quietly, looking at the items in the room.

"If you've finished admiring his room, can we hurry up? You need to get down to the basement and crack open that vault." Minho's friend, who he refused to name, had tipped them off about a vault in the basement that he had been hired to install. Ever since then, Minho had been planning to break in and steal some of the money hidden in the vault, and had somehow dragged Thomas into it.

"So why do you need me to steal again?" Thomas asked as he exited the room and continued the walk down the hallway.

"It's not technically stealing, I'm going to pay them back someday, and no offense, but it's none of your business why I need the money, but I promise I'll pay you back someday too."

"Very reassuring. Are you sure there's even money in the vault?"

"What else would you store in a vault?"

"Good point."

"Okay, Thomas, the stairs should be on your right," Minho said, "Open the door and the stairs go down to the basement."

"Okay, I'll talk to you when I get out, the audio is starting to cut." Thomas replied as Minho's voice started to crackle and static filled his ear. He turned the volume off and he descended into the darkness.

He had been expecting possibly a large safe inside a room, filled to the brim with 100-dollar notes. What he hadn't expected was a vaulted door with a large rusted lock. Okay, maybe there's a massive safe in here, or maybe this room is like a giant safe, and will have heaps of money. Thomas shook his head, he was getting less certain about this. He knelt so he could attempt to pick the lock, and pulling out his tools, he set to work in the dim light.

It took him longer than he had expected to pick open the lock, but he finally did it. Thomas cautiously took the lock of the door. He opened the door cautiously, not sure what to expect, no longer expecting a room full of money, but definitely not expecting what he found.

The room was dark- so dark his eyes weren't adjusting, and so Thomas pulled out his phone to shine it around the room.

What Thomas saw made him almost drop his phone, and sent shivers down his spine. A blond-haired kid sat in the corner, chained to the wall, squinting from the light. His hair was dishevelled, and his brown eyes were bloodshot. He had numerous bruises on his arms and a gash under his eye. He seemed to be roughly Thomas' age, maybe a year older. From the way his ribs were showing from beneath his shirt, it seemed he hadn't eaten in a long time.

"Please," He whispered, his voice hoarse, "Please, just kill me."