Broken Hands

106. Damien knows

The room buzzed with a tense, almost electric energy as the team worked tirelessly. Computers hummed, keyboards clicked, and papers shuffled. The air smelled faintly of stale coffee and stress. Damien stood near the center of the controlled chaos, his posture rigid, his face a storm cloud of concentration. Around him, his team moved with precision. Xong, the young man with dark hair and sharp reflexes, typed furiously on the keyboard, his screen filled with folders, encrypted files, and dark web trails. Across the room, a woman at another desk sifted through data with the calm efficiency of someone used to dealing with monsters in the shadows. Edward, a burly man by the map table, mapped out logistics with the precision of a military strategist.

"Sir, check this out," Xong said, his voice tense as he opened a series of video files. The label on the folder read Boy. Damien squinted at the low-quality footage as the first video loaded. The shaky camera panned to a dingy room, and a man stood near the door, shouting, "BOY!" Moments later, a small child shuffled into the frame, his shoulders hunched, his movements hesitant and reluctant.

It hit Damien like a freight train. Grayson.

Damien became alerted as the video played. The audio was rough, but Grayson's muffled screams came through clearly, along with the man's harsh, commanding voice. Damien's fists clenched so tightly that it hurt his veins. The video switched to another, and then another—each more horrific than the last. In some, there were multiple men. Grayson's young face appeared over and over again, his fear evident, his pain undeniable.

"Stop," Damien wanted to say, but the words stuck in his throat. He couldn't look away. The anger boiling inside him was too much to contain. It burned his chest, and his entire being. He was barely holding it together.

Xong glanced up nervously, his fingers pausing over the keyboard. "Sir..." he whispered, clearly rattled by Damien's demeanor.

"Trace the videos," Damien ordered, his voice dangerously low. "Trace their sources, their destinations. Were they forwarded? Distributed?"

Xong nodded quickly, his hands trembling as they returned to the keyboard. "Yes, sir. On the dark web, and... to a few other devices. Sir... there are more videos of other kids around same age." He blurted.

Damien cussed under his breath. His mind raced, every thought flashing back to Grayson. How much had the boy endured? How much had he kept buried inside? Damien felt a surge of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. But he couldn't afford to waver. Never.

"Smith, come check this out," the woman at the opposite desk called. Damien turned toward her, his expression hardening. She opened a file labeled X on the same device. As it came into view his blood ran cold.

It was a series of photos. Alexandra stood by a park, holding a toddler who Damien recognized instantly as Grayson, those big gray eyes and black locks gave him away. But it was the next photo that sent a chill down his spine—Charlie stood with Alexandra, his arm wrapped possessively around her neck. She swiped to another image. In one hand, Charlie held a gun; in the other, he bore the toddler on his shoulder. His grin was manic, his eyes wild with an unmistakable glint of cruelty. Alexandra was absent in the photo, and by the far end there was a figure. The person's face was blurred along with their body as if they were walking by.

"Get me a facial recognition match on that person," Damien said, his voice tight, controlled. The woman nodded and got to work immediately.

"Sir, there's more," Xong called from his station. "Letters. Lots of them."

Damien turned back, his expression unreadable. "Forward everything to me," he instructed, his tone sharp as a blade. "Assemble all the files into collections. I want every detail, every location. Prepare to trace those coordinates."