A public school in California was attacked by terrorists and only seven of the students survived through a secret anti- organized crime. The seven students were placed between two options: death or joining.
The seven students didn't have a choice ex...
"Hey, sweetheart," she whispered, her voice a fragile thread of urgency, "there are some men coming to speak with daddy. I need you to be brave and hide in the closet, okay?" Her grip on my arms was a desperate plea, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. The tremble in her hands betrayed a terror that seeped into my bones. “Mommy, don’t leave me.” As if I knew it was this was the last moment with her.
In the next room, my father's silhouette was a stark contrast against the dim light, a gun held steady in his grasp.
I nodded, the gravity of the moment sinking in. I wrapped my arms around her, clinging to the scent of lavender in her hair, the warmth of her embrace. It was a silent promise, a hope that this wasn't our final farewell.
As I slipped into the dark recesses of the closet, the muffled sounds of approaching footsteps grew louder. My heart raced, each beat a drum of impending uncertainty. I held my breath, waiting in the shadows, as the door creaked open...
I feel my bones paralyzed. My eyed closed, I’m unable to open them.
FOCUS. My thoughts is clouded with confusion; the memories are hardly getting in my mind. REMEMBER. A guy shot me in the neck. A guy shot me in the neck. A guy shot me in the neck after I beat him in his leg. INFER. I conclude nothing except everyone is dead. Everyone is dead. Although my senses seem numbed, the sound of voices somehow breaks through. "What should we do with her?" a gruff voice demands, slicing through the silence. "Take her as a hostage," the same voice suggests, now unmistakably feminine. "Kali might pay a king's ransom to get her.” "But what if Kali is oblivious?" interjects another, his words tumbling out hastily. "She's an innocent; she has no ties to him." I try to move, to see, to feel. FAILED. But then my eyes opens successfully. As my eyelids part, a confined space comes into focus. I'm surrounded by walls painted a uniform grey, save for one made of glass to my right. Through this transparent partition, I observe a trio of figures: an Asian woman whose composed demeanor suggests authority, a man whose substantial build hints at formidable strength, and a short, bespectacled blonde man who attentively records observations in his notebook, possibly charting the course of the events unfolding before him.
“She walk up” The man with glasses says pointing with his fingers at me. 🕸🕸🕸
“How do you feel?” the man with glasses is sitting beside my bed on a metalic chair, noting whatever he notice about me. “Where am I?” The words are hardly moving from my mouth. Its all I can think about actually, where am I? “My name is Lincoln. I am here to help you,” he seem that he talks a lot and speaks quickly “there is nothing to be scared of. You are totally safe, and under our protection. Now, if you could, please share with me what are you feeling?” “Who are you?” incomprehension fills my face. “Lincoln.” “No, what is this place?” At that moment, the robust man steps into the room, his presence commanding yet reassuring. He answers my question with a gentle authority, “Sintinel, dear. You’re in Sintinel.”
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