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approximately two years ago ; well before kira and Malcolm were scouted by the corps their family was already involved in the mafia so they were like forced into it.
10:45 p.m.
Kira's POV:
I had walked this route a thousand times. Late nights, early mornings, it didn't matter. I knew these streets like the back of my hand. They were familiar, comfortable even. But tonight, something felt wrong. There was a heaviness in the air that I couldn't shake, like the quiet before a storm.
I glanced up at the sky. The stars were dim, shrouded by thin clouds that reflected the orange glow of streetlights. The empty sidewalks stretched out in front of me, the city asleep. My footsteps echoed with a hollow, eerie rhythm as I pulled my jacket tighter around myself. The slight chill bit through the thin fabric, and I cursed myself for not dressing warmer.
Reaching into my pocket, I fumbled for my phone. The familiar weight of it in my hand was always comforting, especially on nights like this when I felt too alone. I thumbed the side button, hoping to call my brother to pick me up.
Nothing. Dead.
"Shit," I muttered under my breath, frustration bubbling up. Of course, it dies now, I thought, tossing the phone back into my pocket. My mind immediately began running through backup plans. I wasn't far from home. I could make it there in fifteen minutes if I kept up a steady pace. Maybe I was just overthinking things. It's late. It's quiet. There's nothing out here but me.
But that creeping feeling in the back of my head wouldn't go away. I tried to ignore it, shaking it off with every step forward, but the silence was pressing in, a tangible weight on my chest.
Then, I heard it.
A low hum, like an engine idling somewhere behind me. I stopped, just for a second, listening. The sound was faint but steady, the unmistakable rumble of a vehicle creeping along at a slow pace. My skin prickled. Slowly, I turned my head and glanced behind me.
There it was—a matte black van, barely illuminated by the flickering streetlights. It wasn't speeding by or casually driving past. No, it was trailing behind me, like it was... watching.
My breath caught in my throat. A chill ran down my spine, and a heavy pit settled in my stomach. I quickened my pace, trying not to make it too obvious, but I could feel my pulse quickening. My heart thudded in my chest as I kept my eyes forward, willing myself not to look back again.
But then, the van started to slow even more, until it was practically crawling along the curb.
Hell no, I thought, panic bubbling up.
I sped up, trying to put more distance between me and the van, but my legs felt heavy, like the fear was weighing them down. My breaths were coming quicker now, more ragged, as my ears strained to hear any other sounds behind me.
And then it came—the unmistakable thudding of footsteps. Fast. Gaining on me.
I whipped around, my heart racing, and my eyes locked on a figure—a man, maybe around my age, moving toward me with purpose. His green eyes stood out in the dim light, cold and unblinking. His hair was half up, half down, strands framing his face. He was too calm. Too focused. Like this wasn't the first time he'd done this.
And then I saw what was in his hand—a white handkerchief.
My heart dropped into my stomach.
No. No, no, no. My mind raced. I'd seen this in too many movies, too many horror stories. The chloroform, the abductions. My legs moved before I even fully processed the thought. I spun on my heel and ran. Hard. Fast. My sneakers pounded against the pavement as I tried to put as much distance between me and the man as possible.
But he was fast—much faster than I'd anticipated. His footsteps closed in on me quickly, and I could hear his breathing, steady and controlled, as he sprinted after me like a predator chasing its prey.
I barely had time to scream before his hand shot out, grabbing me by the waist. His fingers dug into my skin painfully, yanking me backward with a force that knocked the wind out of me. I stumbled, thrashing, trying to claw at him, but he was relentless, stronger than I could have imagined.
"Let me go!" I tried to shout, but my voice was drowned out by the sudden pressure of the handkerchief being shoved against my face. The bitter, chemical smell overwhelmed my senses, and I gagged, struggling to hold my breath. My vision blurred as I kicked and thrashed, my movements becoming more desperate.
I tried to fight. I tried to scream, but the napkin pressed tighter against my nose and mouth, and I could feel my body betraying me. My lungs screamed for air, but I knew that the moment I inhaled, it would be over.
And then, it happened. My chest heaved, and I couldn't hold it anymore. I sucked in a breath, the noxious fumes filling my lungs. The world around me started to spin, the streetlights above me blurring into streaks of light. My limbs grew heavy, my vision darkening at the edges.
I fought against the darkness, thrashing one last time, but my strength was fading fast. My body went limp in his arms, and the last thing I saw was his cold, expressionless face before everything went black.
No One's POV:
Kira's body slumped into the man's arms, her thrashing growing weaker until she fell completely still. Her head lolled to the side, and her breathing became shallow, faint. He stood there for a moment, holding her limp form in his arms, watching her face for any sign of consciousness.
Nothing.
Satisfied, he adjusted his grip, hoisting her up into a bridal carry with an eerie ease. He moved swiftly but carefully, like this was routine for him, like he had done this a thousand times before. The van door slid open with a soft creak, and he stepped inside, laying her down gently on the cold, metal floor.
"Is she alright?" came a shaky voice from the driver's seat. Malcom, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly, glanced nervously into the rearview mirror, his leg bouncing up and down anxiously. His fingers drummed against the leather, the tension in his body palpable.
"She's fine," the man with the green eyes replied calmly. He didn't seem fazed by any of it. His movements were precise, methodical. He pulled a pair of handcuffs from his jacket and quickly secured Kira's wrists, locking them together behind her back. Next came the duct tape. He ripped off a long piece and pressed it firmly over her mouth, silencing any potential screams before they could even start.
"Be gentle with her," Malcom muttered again, his voice a little softer this time, like he was trying to convince himself that things wouldn't get worse. "We don't need this to get messy."
The green-eyed man smirked faintly. "Relax," he said, almost amused. "Everything's under control." He reached over and grabbed a blanket from the backseat, laying it over Kira's still-twitching body. She was shivering in her sleep, her tank top and sweats doing little to protect her from the cold air seeping into the van.
As the van began to move, the hum of the engine grew louder, blending into the sounds of the night. The streetlights flickered by as the vehicle slipped away, taking Kira with it.
Malcom's leg continued to bounce, his gaze flickering between the road and the unconscious girl in the back. "I hope you're right," he muttered under his breath, barely audible over the rumble of the tires against the asphalt.
The man with the green eyes said nothing, his gaze fixed on Kira's sleeping form, an unreadable expression crossing his face.
And so, it began. This was only the first step in something far darker, something that no one—not Kira, not even Malcom—was prepared for.
