Inoperative

Prologue

"Shh... Don't cry. You need to stay very quiet," her mother whispered into her hair. Eleanor held her daughter tightly in her lap, wiping away her flowing tears as the rhythmic banging against the door continued. "Amara, everything is going to be okay."

Tiny green orbs peeked out from beneath her mother's arms. They glistened with moisture as she tried her best to control her loud sobs.

"Mommy? Are they going to hurt us?" She asks in the slightest, squeaky whisper.

"No dear. Of course not. We'll be okay," she whispered in return, stroking her daughter's dashing brown hair.

"You promise?" Amara asked. She knew her mom was crying. She could feel the moisture pooling in her hair. She could feel her gentle shakes as she silently sobbed.
"I promise," she replied.

The door surrendered to the merciless attacks from the other side and fell open with a bang, onto the floor. Her mother squeezes Amara tighter as they pour into the room. Two dozen people cloaked in black and masked with a piece of cloth.

"Surrender the child to us and she will not be harmed," one demands in a hollow, machine-like voice.

"No!" Eleanor screams as her child is torn from her arms without waiting for a response. "Please! I'll do anything! Don't hurt her!"

"Mommy!" the child screams as the black cloaked figure holding her struggles to remain his hold on her squirming body.

"It's okay sweetie. Remember, no matter what. Chin up, stay strong, fake a smile and move on. I love you," and just like that she was dragged from the room despite Amara's screaming protests.

"Inoperatives group 2-0-4-7 taken care of," one figure said into the talkie mounted on his shoulder. With one flick of his hand, Amara was struck on the back of the head with a hard object and her mind went black.