The Cadillac we were in passed under a dilapidated bridge. From where I could see, sitting by the window, the bridge's concrete guardrails had long been damaged that it created spaces for wildlife to cross, strands of thin vines grew to encircle it as a sign of its abandonment. I would expect such a place to be deserted since the surroundings held a special kind of eeriness where self-proclaimed paranormal experts in youtube go gaga over its haunted aesthetics. Houses spaced widely apart, appeared to be a hundred years left behind by people that once held a small town.
Though, it was far from it.
A handful of men in ratty clothes made a home here with ashen faces and cigarettes that never left their lips.
We've come a long way from Halberg. My attempt at memorizing the direction we were heading was futile and the disheveled man knew it, seeing his reflection's damning smirk in the rear mirror. He took us where crowds were sparse so he could maneuver around, in circles if he had to, to whomever might be trailing us. It did not help that the street names were unfamiliar, and the buildings shared the same appearance. All I gathered was the time from my abduction. Useless information, really.
Eight hours.
Two children beside me were fast asleep. Exhaustion caught up to them the moment noon rolled on, dark circles developed around their eyes after crying, albeit silently, too afraid that their whimpers would trigger the adults. Our kidnappers saw it fit not to stop for lunch or restroom breaks in between the whole eight hours we've been inside this awful, chlorine-smelling car. And they made sure to ignore us along the way, the woman especially tuned me out when I began asking their objectives. Her demeanor remained the same, impassive and distant, the moment I listed off one nasty goal after another.
The guy on the other hand, appeared amused, but remained quiet. His threat rang in my head, and that was the only thing stopping me from starting a fuss, or kicking his seat and pulling their hair. All I could do was freely imagine that all in my mind, just to let go and retaliate for messing with me. Ha! That'll never happen. I knew with this tiny body of mine that they would overpower me without breaking a sweat. However that train of thought followed the possible repercussions – taking a mean hook to the cheeks doesn't sound appealing at all and the injuries would just be an example for the children to not follow in my footsteps.
Worse case scenario, the kids would get dragged into my actions just because I pissed them off. I already had a lot on my plate, adding to their suffering would no doubt send me into a deeper level of unconsciousness that doctors might as well declare me 'brain death'.
So,I begrudgingly kept my mouth shut and observed, marking locations for a mind map.
Outside, a few glanced over our car passing by. The tinted windows prevented them from knowing what was inside but apart from their wandering gazes, almost all paid us no attention. No one stopped us and even if one brave soul asked what a sleek, black Cadillac was doing in this part of the town, the disheveled guy would most likely run them over and laugh at their corpse.
I was pulled out from that appalling picture when my hand felt someone touch it. Turning, it was the eldest who wore a button down shirt that appeared to be smoothened properly. Now that my attention diverted into them, I began to notice details that pointed out their possible status in life. This one must've been a child of a middle class family. His skin showed a healthy glow different from the dull tone of my own. And it seemed that he wanted to hold my hand, either to reassure me, or to keep himself grounded despite our situation.
The reason was unimportant to me so I let him do what he wanted.
He squeezed my hand tight.
Beside him was a girl who looked a little older than me with hair as short as mine that I mistook her as a boy at first. I couldn't identify if the two were related, both have blonde hair of varying shades with dark irises. She stared off the distance, her lips swollen and red with blood clotted along the cut. It told me that this girl tried to fight her way out but lost. It was upsetting to know that she too was helpless. And for a brief moment, I let myself wonder if their parents were actively looking for missing children. Did they alert the police already?
The thought that police have to wait twenty four hours before an official search began soured my mouth and tension gripped my insides with an unyielding hold. The lack of CCTV cameras was another factor for the delay. Was the government training dogs for police work during this period? Were there any witnesses who even saw our abduction?!
The more I think about our slim chance of being saved, the more my head pounded from dwelling with worries. Coupled that with the terrible feeling at the pit of my stomach, I was ready to hurl inside this car.
My eyes glanced at the children, feeling vulnerable, when I realized what could be their modus all along.
The three of us were young and blonde.
Name three sounds I can hear.
Having a panic attack was bad, what made it worse was letting my kidnappers watch the foundations that kept me stable for the hours inside this goddamned car, crumpled. I felt my breath shorten, skin breaking out in cold sweat as my gaze fell in front. And the man stared at me through the mirror.
Name three sounds I can hear!
I broke eye contact and focused listening on the woman tapping her foot impatiently, the sniffling and heavy breathing of the child sitting beside me, and the distinctive sound of the tires running on unpaved road.
Name three things you can see.
My dirty toenails that grew longer over the time I spent on the streets, the woman's hat she still wore even inside the stuffy car, and lastly, a magazine folded at the crevice between the seats.
I don't wish for the children to cause more grief. While conversations between the three of us consisted of words of comfort, the mask of composure on my face was what I planned to help abate their fear. It worked to some extent and I wasn't about to let that mask crack into pieces. Any weakness they perceive at this point could mean that our situation was hopeless.
Move three parts of your body.
My hands grabbed both of his hands.
I have to be strong for these two kids who have parents waiting for their return. If I could escape a guarded facility, then, I could do it again.
Gently, I squeezed back and smiled.
.
.
YOR BRIAR painted a whole ballroom scarlet once. Such a nice color that complemented the decorative roses inside their gold plated vases. Her enemies, women who willingly hid illegal drugs in their wombs, consented to an operating procedure to change their lives, laid unbreathing on the floor. Their mouths open in silent scream as blood flowed at the corners.
It happened a long time ago, the time in her youth where she'd pause and admire her masterpiece. Nowadays, Yor finished her missions with no affair. She would enter the scene, kill, and then wash off traces of blood on her body before leaving. It was swift, efficient, and methodical. Perhaps this trait of hers was what Camilla referred to as 'robotic behavior'. Yor saw nothing wrong with it, and yet people have seen it as deviancy.
The Shopkeeper's call was short, as with all straightforward missions. Yor expected her evening to be simple upon her orders of killing the scums of Ostania responsible for abducting the country's precious children. Apparently, a criminal organization was found hiding like rats under an abandoned theme park. A place that was supposed to be filled with merriment, with a ferris wheel taller than the city hall, state of the art roller coasters, carousels, water slides and many more now had blankets of grime. Their paints discolored and peeled off due to the years that went by after it went bankrupt. Nothing was at least entertaining in this place, everything looked bleaked. Yor could only imagine what the children went through. Their misery was a grim reminder why people like Yor were necessary, assassins out of sight, and unafraid to stain their hands bloody.
It was all for the good of her country.
Her heels made a clicking noise as Yor crossed the waterless pool that led her into a tunnel. Darkness and damp air greeted her, the characteristic smell of molds was ever present as she entered, stiletto in her hands, prepared for ambushes she might come across. Yor knew she was at a disadvantage. The lack of details regarding this place could pose a hindrance to tonight's goals, and the element of surprise could just be her only saving grace. After all, assassins were known to thrive under difficult circumstances.
Yor stopped her movements upon the screeching of tires. There was a muffled grinding sound coming from where she entered. Looking back, the remaining daylight produced a silhouette of a car. A man pushed its door open and couldn't identify any weapons on his person. It was safe to assume he had one or more hidden behind his unkempt clothes.
He said something incomprehensible before leading a group of children out, and Yor had to squint her eyes at the perpetrator handcuffing the three one at a time. Together, they head where Yor stood, followed by another person, a woman, guarding their back.
From the shadows, she lifted her stiletto dagger and threw.
The children screamed when her weapon passed above their heads, directly hitting the woman on her chest and Yor rushed forward. She knew echoes of her fight were going to alert the organization, more men would come out of hiding with guns ablazing.
A pistol aimed at her and Yor had to dodge when a bullet nearly missed her ear. More shots were fired drowning the wails of the children huddled by the mouth of the tunnel.
She closed the distance between them and the man stared wide at her eyes as she pounced. Her stiletto pushed through his chest without any resistance at all, he didn't have a chance to defend himself. Against someone else who wasn't Yor, he might get to live another day. However, against the Thorn Princess? She learned at a young age not to leave enemies unscathed.
The life in his eyes dimmed, lips letting off his last exhale when Yor withdrew her weapon, and allowed the body to fall with a thud.
Under the darkness of the tunnel, weak whimpers coming from the three rang around Yor like a heavy shroud. She momentarily forgot about their existence and were unfortunate spectators to witness two deaths in a single day, despite them being their kidnappers, Yor was aware that no child should be exposed to violence. And she felt responsible for the fear-stricken look directed at her.
She couldn't blame them when they backed away in panic, even as Yor tried to smile and console with a low voice, "It's alright. I'll look for the key and take away those handcuffs. You won't be staying here any–"
"Duck!"
Yor felt her muscles contract, bringing her body close to the ground, before a bullet sailed and hit the tunnel wall with a metallic tink.
Opposite to her, the woman leaned for support, attempting to press on her wound. Shakily, she held her firearm, and before she could fire another round Yor drove her bloodied stiletto straight toward her enemy's neck.
"Are…" Yor brought her attention to the youngest boy, his smaller frame shaking from the adrenaline running in his veins, and stuttered a question, "Are you a g-good person, did you come to save us?"
You hesitated, but nodded nonetheless. She chose to respond in a skeptical manner which she hoped the children wouldn't notice. Good people weren't murders, and Yor readily killed two with ease. Her expert delivery was an obvious sign that she killed before.
"I've come to save you from the bad guys."
He muttered, "Okay."
Eh? Yor was bewildered at his easy agreement. She thought back how Yuri was inquisitive at that age, always asking questions, the how, the what, and the where, his unquenchable thirst for information was unusual but generally all children were curious. Right? She expected silence or, for children who were like Yuri, to at least ask about her intent.
Lifting his shackled limbs, he explained to Yor how tight the cuff placement was that it rubbed their wrists raw. She was told that the man placed the key inside his breast pocket so none of their fingers could slip in and take it unnoticed, not that the children could based on their expressions and obvious inexperience. And like a valuable treasure, upon presenting the silvery hollow barrel of the key that had a small tooth at the end, they showed a smidgen of relief. But Yor could tell that tension never left their bodies. They were still on guard and the boy stood, gesturing for the others to follow him. He whispered to avoid looking at the bodies, as if staring at the dead for more than a second would revive them.
Yor's back straightened at the faint sound of incoming footsteps, distant but echoing.
The crescendoing patter had Yor handing the key to the youngest frantically. She acknowledged the boy to be mature enough in this situation and yelled, "Take this! And hide in that car!" She didn't even stop to see if they followed her instructions as the first thug emerged.
"What the?" He growled, reaching for the holster, "You did this?!"
Instead of providing a response, Yor extracted her weapon from the woman's neck and darted deeper into the tunnel.
.
.
The increasing pressure in my stomach was brought about by a certain barbecue stick sailing above our heads and impaling the woman pretending to be my mother.
Straight!
Into!
Her chest!
My voice soon joined the screaming before guns were involved. Its noise was nothing near the thumping within my ribcage.
I was completely frozen, crouched as hands covered my ears. Thankfully, someone dragged my stiff body along the edge, away from the line of fire. We flocked around each other, taking small comfort that none of us were hurt.
Physically, we were fine. Aside from the redness developing around our wrists, no other injuries could be seen. On the other hand, my stomach protested at the acid building up. It rose all the way to the back of my throat, burning it. The sour, bitter taste had me coughing.
Silence.
I gathered whatever strength I had left and looked, only to discover the man getting stabbed. His spluttering indicated that an important artery was skewered. He had no hope of surviving. A vague voice in my head reminded me of his grins that he could no longer mock me with.
I wasn't aware of the breath I was holding. A heavy sigh escaped me, not from relief. The lady killer lightly shoved the man off of her, and he fell like a sack of potatoes. She wore a serious expression, her eyes narrowed into slits, glaring at our kidnappers. A hint of anger I detected simmering behind those ruby irises which were impossibly beautiful. I couldn't make out if this new person was a friend or a foe.
The hairs at the back of my neck stood up.
She caught me looking.
The lady uttered words, it sounds traveled at a pace slower than a snail that my brain failed to decipher her meaning. She appeared to be comforting us, concern washing away the scowling appearance she sported earlier. Was she pretending?
At the periphery, I noticed a movement that rushed a wave of panic all over me and I shouted at the top of my lungs.
"Duck!"
Somehow, my body rose, preparing to drag the lady down and evade the bullet. But the shackles I had were chained with the other two and they prevented me from moving.
A single blink.
And then that damned stick of hers was now lodged into the woman's trachea. Her gurgling was forever imprinted in my brain. It took only a second for her to finish. But everything, from the point when we entered this tunnel to our current position, felt like a lifetime. I was thrown in a loop where images repeated themselves that it started to blur together.
The facility.
Body bags.
Richard.
The market.
With unseeing eyes, my head turned to where the lady must be standing and asked if she was our savior because I don't think my mind could take anymore trauma for the day. Although I did try keeping it down for the sake of my two companions, the rope holding my sanity intact was gradually becoming undone.
I need assurance.
She spoke.
There were only two words I could process at the moment: save you. And it was enough for me. Better than nothing.
Little by little, my awareness was starting to come back. The feeling on my hands was slowly returning and I was startled how pale my palms looked. Tiny crescent markings where fingernails dug the palms from clenching too hard. The trembling was still there.
"Great." I began lifting my arms to her so she could view the reddening around the cuffs, "Thanks for the save. Now could you please get the key from his coat's pocket?"
Our relief was short-lived. The path to freedom seemed to be a long road, but with the key was another step forward.
I pulled at the cuffs that bound us together before another wave of fear set in from men pouring in as backup, signaling the children to crouch low so any stray bullets wouldn't hit us. I paid no attention to the sounds, whether it be the firing of bullets or the pained grunts of our kidnappers, I couldn't care anymore. A single goal in mind kept me running towards the car.
Survive.
My hands flew to the handle, and to my surprise, they left it unlocked. "Get in!" Once again, the smell of chlorine bombarded our noses which had me grimacing. The girl closed the door behind as I worked around the cuffs.
She asked, "Are we going to be safe here?"
"No." The eldest was pretty blunt with his reply, and I agreed with him and passed the key to him. While scaring the girl was nowhere near my objectives, it was sensible to remain realistic especially when a gunfight was just a few meters away.
"But she said to hide here!" Her voice raised higher in protest and the boy snapped, almost throwing the key in anger.
"Do you really trust her?! Because I don't." He sounded furious, terrifying the girl into silence, dragging her gaze low. My own reaction gave me a tunnel vision which escaped my memory that children, and other people, have their own fight or flight response. Not at all similar to the way I act, and it was perfectly normal for this girl to latch on our savior.
"I trust her." Feeling pity, I pitched in, "A little bit. I mean, I do trust her today. But maybe tomorrow I won't."
The boy looked at me in betrayal, "You're not making any sense!"
"Just think of the phrase, 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend'. I'm not saying to lay out our trust in her completely." His body was trembling, either from resentment or something else. I couldn't wait for him to make up his mind and pluck the key from his grip, gesturing to the girl to come even closer.
The three of us suddenly stiffened.
With wide eyes, we took a frightened look at the gaping hole. A bullet passed by our side and exited to the other car door, creating another hole. Fine dust left traces on the floor.
I immediately unlocked the girl's cuffs. "We need shelter."
And off we go running.
A handful of men saw us leave the car and shouted for us to stop. They wore leather jackets over t-shirts and they definitely didn't look like police, so we continued with our run. Hoping that our little legs won't give up and stumble because they were gaining on us.
The picture of that lady flashed before my eyes, dead, and I prayed for her survival. She was the only one who stood a chance against these criminals. However, the thought that she could be indeed lying lifelessly like the disheveled man sent a spike of adrenaline.
We passed by a roller coaster, its exposed steel support was showing rust and the wooden panels were weak against our weight. Creaking noises should have alerted us to the danger of falling, but in my mind, I tried to rationalize how the bigger frames of the people trailing us were no match for the decaying wood.
I sent another prayer to God, to give us luck.
"There!" The boy pointed out a shed at the foot of the ride. A single door without windows, it was a maintenance room for employees. It was perfect! Surely, there were tools inside. We all head towards it. In my haste, I wasn't able to perceive much. Going by the abrupt, distressingly yell behind us meant that someone fell.
I would have laughed, if I wasn't catching my breath.
The three of us entered the shed and slammed the door shut with the boy feeling the door at its corners for a bolt and lock.
Unfortunately. "This door doesn't have a lock!"
"Shit!" They looked at me and I felt indignation, "What? We've seen a lot of things today and bad words surprises you?" Any response from them was cut off as the door flew open. A man with cuts on his clothes panted and focused his gun on us.
"You little shits just can't stay still huh!"
I screamed as the girl was grabbed by her arms, "Just go away asshole!" We looked around, our frantic inspection of the room missed how two more occupants were residing inside. I was preoccupied cursing internally when I couldn't find a hammer, a screwdriver, pliers, or anything, when the door was closed shut with a click.
We stilled, for a minute or two.
"D-did he…" Someone stammered out, "Leave?"
Then, girl was bawling her eyes out. The shelter was dark since no windows were installed, but light passed through the fissures above which allowed us to see. There was a gap at the bottom of the door that I immediately headed over to catch a glimpse outside.
His gun was placed on a holster by his belt and the man was walking farther, towards where his group tended to their wounds. Their distance from us wasn't that great and my ears could faintly hear the conversation, how he shouldn't leave just like that, how we deserve more than threats. Another joined to comment that we weren't supposed to be damaged – any injuries and illnesses defer our organs for potential buyers.
Well shit. It wasn't child prostitution which I initially thought. The revelation didn't surprise me as I'd expected, however, organ trafficking was another nightmare that would no doubt fuel my dreams.
The same man agreed with the former and went back to us. I didn't get to see his look, but the violent attitude he gave off had me backing away.
"He's coming!"
The door was kicked open and the man sauntered in, arms crossed over his chest and grunted, "Which one of you wants to go first?"
My previous companions fared better than the two who were here in the first place. Two girls sat close together. Thick cloth wrapped around their heads, covering their sight. No bruises along the exposed skin, of course, we were valuable to them. Even our skin for grafting would cost more especially to desperate buyers. And among the five of us, four were actually children. Innocent and naive. It was up to me to step up.
"What are you going to do to us?"
He hummed, "Let's see, perhaps we can make use of your eyes. How would you like to have your corneas removed?"
I gulped, "With anesthesia."
"You got guts brat." I was then held by the hair, his calloused hands gripped my strands and forced me out. This man had no care whether bruises would form due to improper handling as long as it was not seen by his superiors, he laughed and mocked my resistance. My nails tried to scratch him and kicked his feet.
"Let me go!"
The pressure on my scalp subsided but left an ache from where he pulled.
I was released at once and stumbled from the loss of support. Knees greeted the ground as I fell, it brought pain that went up to the hips which momentarily distracted me from the throbbing in my head. I was already exhausted, body coming down from surges of adrenaline. Irritation began to creep as one misfortune layered one over another. This day has been a long one bringing my nervous system into overdrive, worse than what occurred in the facility where the stench of formaldehyde and rotting corpses clung into my clothes.
He was staring at me as I massaged my head. This man just stood, observing, and I had no idea what made him stop. Maybe he was starting to consider his companion's sound advice, that we weren't supposed to be hurt.
Screw it. We all have encountered varying levels and types of pain, for the whole day its scale was consistently at moderate, but now… kidnapped, threatened, witnessed deaths, got our hopes up, and ultimately being cornered into this cramped room. I would be lying if I wasn't experiencing some form of mental affliction.
Severe.
"Go away! Leave us and don't come back, yah hear me!" My fist flew towards his groin and he went down with a scream, loud enough to disturb birds resting in their nests. It alerted his friends as well. I must've scared them off, half of them ran away at the instant, while the remaining few questioned themselves whether to stay or to follow after their comrades.
"Don't leave yet! Get your shitty friend out of my sight!"
People approached, cautious when I started glaring, but continued to come closer. They grabbed the man who was muttering incomprehensible words. His groans were pitiful to hear. If I was in a different situation, maybe I would shred a tiny ounce of sympathy, but right now? Nope. He launched into this sobbing mess at the blunt force his ding-dong received.
Serve him right.
"I mean it when I said don't come back!"
.
.
This chapter is inspired by my legal medicine professor who loves telling stories in class. And sorry for the wait, I had a hard time writing fight scenes (ᗒᗣᗕ)՞ Oh and I feel like now's the right time to reveal Jericho's power.
Compulsion.
It's not as strong as mind control, since people are still able to choose whether to follow an order or not. Just a very strong urge to do his bidding. I won't go into anymore details since I planned to write it in a chapter.