Sob… sob…
In the wealthier quarter of Tina City, where manicured lawns glistened like emerald glass and silver towers caught the late-night glow, a single apartment broke the calm.
Inside, a young woman knelt on polished wooden floors littered with photographs. Each glossy print showed the same bright-eyed girl—seven, maybe eight years old.
Some of the photos were crumpled, others already warped by falling tears.
"Minny… where are you?" Roseline's voice cracked. Her shoulders trembled beneath a tangle of dark hair. "Why didn't you foresee this?"
It had been more than twenty-four hours.
The police had nothing—no prints, no leads. Every CCTV feed from the neighborhood had been wiped with surgical precision.
To outsiders it might have sounded like rumor, a nightmare passed along in whispers.
But to Roseline the emptiness was real, a cavern of dread.
She pressed a damp photo to her chest and squeezed her eyes shut. The memory of that night bled through the darkness.
---
The Night of the Kidnappings
Roseline had wrapped a blanket tight around her shoulders, the city air cold against her skin. Her gaze drifted past the flashing lights of patrol cars into the ink-black sky, unseeing, unfocused.
"Ma'am, how old is your daughter?" The officer's badge read VOLT, block letters that felt almost cruelly bright.
"She's eight… just turned eight a few weeks ago." Roseline's voice broke, the last words tumbling out in a sob. "She's just a child…"
Volt waited, giving her the kind of silence that only deepened the ache.
"Where were you when this happened?"
"I work late at the game shop," she whispered. "I… I closed late that night. If I'd just come home earlier—"
Her throat tightened. She couldn't finish.
The blanket slipped from her shoulders and pooled at her feet.
---
Back in the present, she cursed herself again. A single mother since her own teenage years, Roseline had fought for a better life—leaving her hometown, her parents' disappointment, everything familiar.
Minny had been her redemption, her laughter a light in the steel-gray city. And now that light was gone.
She lowered her head to the floorboards. "Minny… come back to me," she whispered, exhaustion finally dragging her into a restless sleep.
---
Beneath the City
Far below the glowing skyline, the air changed—thicker, metallic.
A hidden bunker sprawled beneath layers of concrete and reinforced steel, a place erased from official maps.
In an age when gangs boasted of owning entire districts like feudal lords, secrecy of this depth was rare—and dangerous.
Only the kidnappers knew the tunnels existed.
A narrow corridor hummed with the faint buzz of old wiring. Past a metallic door, a room the size of a classroom glowed under a single cold-blue bulb.
Six children huddled inside. Some sat cross-legged, others crouched in corners.
The air smelled faintly of damp stone and ozone. No one smiled.
"I… I want my mummy," a boy murmured, his voice hoarse.
Another child sobbed quietly into her sleeves.
Near the center, a girl with a neat ponytail edged closer to a smaller one whose dark hair curled loosely at her shoulders.
"Hey," she whispered. "What's your name?"
"Clara," the girl answered, blinking back tears. "What's yours?"
"Minny." Despite the fear in her eyes, Minny offered a small, brave smile.
The two of them talked in hushed tones, their soft giggles a fragile thread against the oppressive silence.
After a while Clara asked, "Why aren't you scared like the others?"
Minny tilted her head. "Scared? I am scared. Scared of what they might do. Scared I might never see my mom again."
Her voice wavered, but she forced a breath and steadied herself.
"But my mum always says help will come, no matter what."
"And you believe her?"
"That's the condition," Minny said, a faint light in her eyes.
"Condition?"
"She says help only comes if you believe."
Clara nodded slowly. "Believe," she whispered, as though the word itself might hold power.
---
A metallic ping echoed down the corridor.
Thud… thud…
The heavy door swung inward with a screech of iron on concrete.
Two men entered. One pushed a rattling crate stacked with trays of food; the other shut the door and leaned against it, arms crossed.
"You brats should eat," the slimmer one said, his grin sharp under the blue light. "We want you healthy."
His partner smirked. The scent of cheap cologne mixed with the stale air.
"Why are you doing this?" a small boy cried, tears streaking his dusty face.
"Please… I want to go home," another pleaded.
Their fear only fueled the men's laughter.
Then a clear, steady voice cut through the noise.
"You're jerks," Minny said, each word edged like glass.
The man with the food cart turned, grin fading. "What was that, sweetheart?"
"I said you're just palookas," she shot back, her chin high. "You get pleasure from hurting people, from hearing kids cry. That only shows how small you really are."
The man's face darkened. In two strides he grabbed her ponytail and yanked hard. Minny cried out as pain seared her scalp.
"What do you know?" he snarled. "Kids like you don't get to lecture me. This is the world we live in. Sadly depending on what happens next, you might not live to fully understand it.
He shoved her to the ground. The other children shrank back, trembling.
"That's enough, Rej," the guard at the door said, a hint of warning in his tone.
Rej snorted and stepped away.
Clara rushed to Minny's side. "Are you okay?"
Minny's face flushed red—half from pain, half from anger. "I'm fine," she whispered, her eyes burning.
Then, with a quick glance toward the men, she opened her palm just enough for Clara to glimpse a tiny foldable penknife.
Clara gasped. "Where did you—"
"From his jacket," Minny breathed.
"But… what will you do with it?"
"Don't worry." Minny's gaze stayed locked on the door, her voice low but certain. "The time will come."
Clara followed her friend's eyes to the fading shadows of the departing men.