BEHIND US

XIII

Midnight crept in with the sound of rain tapping against the rooftop. The city outside moved on, unaware that another truth was about to rise from the ashes.

Chris sat alone in front of his laptop, eyes fixed on a decrypted document—Somchai’s final testimony. It wasn’t just a file. It was a weapon.

“I, Somchai Niran, former Finance Officer of HOORNE’S LIMITED, do hereby declare under threat to my life that the company has been funneling military funds through shell corporations for over six years…”

His voice cracked slightly as he read the last line aloud to himself.
“If anything happens to me, let this reach the Waraha family. They deserve justice.”

Behind him, Engfa watched in silence, his eyes glassy with grief.

“He was a good man,” he finally said. “They took him because he was willing to stand by us.”

Snack walked in, a fresh bandage on her arm—earlier she’d had a run-in with someone tailing her through the market. “They’re close,” she said simply. “I ditched the tracker, but someone recognized me. It’s only a matter of time.”

Chris didn’t flinch. “Then we don’t wait. We upload it tonight. Full drop. Every document, every voice clip, every piece of Somchai’s testimony. It goes to the press, the watchdogs, the UN, hell, even social media.”

Engfa nodded. “And we disappear right after.”

Snack raised a brow. “You’re serious dad? Off-grid?”

“We poked a monster,” Engfa said. “Now it’s waking up. If we want to live long enough to see justice done, we need to vanish—at least for a while.”

Chris clicked away at his keyboard, encrypting files, setting up simultaneous uploads through VPN relays across four countries. “Five minutes. Once I hit this, there’s no going back.”

Snack stared at the screen, then at her mother and brother. “Let them come. We’re Warahas. We don’t hide—we just move smarter.”

A long beat of silence passed between them. Rain continued to fall.

Chris took a breath.

Clicked Send.

Monitors flashed.
Uploads in progress.
Progress bar—47%... 68%... 100%.

Across Thailand, phones lit up. Screens refreshed. Files began spreading like wildfire. Audio clips. Financial reports. Photographs. A video of Somchai in his final days, face gaunt but spirit unbroken.

And then, like a whisper in a storm, one last message:

“To the people of Thailand—this is the truth they tried to bury. Now it belongs to you.”

Engfa grabbed a black duffel from under the couch. “We leave now. Before they trace the final node.”

Chris stood, shutting his laptop. “Where to?”

Snack smirked, slipping a burner phone into her jacket. “Somewhere cold. They won’t expect us to go north.”

Engfa opened the door. “Then let’s vanish… and watch them burn from the shadows.”

Snack get her fiancee, while Chris get his older brother. While their father, get their mother and their sister. Not aware much of the situation.

"What happened, Honey? Why are we leaving so suddenly?" Charlotte got confused.

"Mommy, please don't ask more. I will explain everything to you as soon as we land. Our private jet is ready to fly to the north of Thailand." Engfa kiss her queen assuring their safety.

"Alright calm down! Who will be at home while we are gone?" Charlotte asked again.

"Our trusted staff. We will only communicate with them using secured lines if needed hon."  Engfa glance to his wife once again. "Okay, kids, get in and we will fly to our hideout. Fasten your seatbelt."

.........

HOORNE’S LIMITED
3:12 AM
Crisis Command Room

Screens blared red. A conference table surrounded by executives, their suits disheveled, phones glued to ears, panic written in their sweat. The silence was shattered by another explosion of notifications as wave two of the leaks went live.

“Unauthorized uploads detected.”
“Media outlets now linking HOORNE to illegal military collusion.”
“Public confidence index has dropped 53% overnight.”

Chairman Pravit hurled his phone against the wall. “How did they get this? This wasn’t in the previous dump!”

One of the IT heads stammered, “It came from an untraceable proxy—bounced through Manila, Osaka, Helsinki, and God knows where else. We think… the files originated from the Philippines.”

“Then burn it. Burn whatever they have there,” Pravit barked.

“Already done,” said Salinee, stepping in. Her voice was low and cold. “We traced the Waraha family’s fallback estate in the Philippines. Our contacts there… removed it.”

Pravit raised an eyebrow. “Gone?”

She nodded once. “Gone. No survivors reported. No evidence left.”

A silence followed. Then, Pravit exhaled, slowly.

“Then we send a message. Broadcast it. Let the world know the Warahas aren’t heroes. They’re terrorists. Hackers. Criminals.”

“But…” another exec interrupted, “what if they strike again? What if there's a third drop?”

Pravit stared into the flickering screen, where headlines screamed corruption, betrayal, and cover-ups.

“They will,” he said. “But this time, we’ll be ready. Increase bounties. Lock down every affiliate. And find out where they’re going next.”

His voice dropped lower.

“We end the Waraha name. Permanently.”

........

In the soft morning mist of an unnamed mountain village far from Thai borders, three figures emerged from the fog—weathered, silent, and alive.

The Waraha family had made it out.

Snack pulled her coat tighter, the cold biting through her bones. “They got the house.”

Engfa nodded without emotion. “I expected that. But we’ll rebuild. Like we always do.”

Chris looked out over the valley, snow just beginning to kiss the rooftops below. “No signals here. No eyes. Just time.”

Snack turned to him, serious. “Time for what?”

Chris smiled faintly. “For the final act.”

🐶🐰