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Before the boy could pry open Mike's mouth, forcing his tongue out with a rusted, trembling knife, a loud thud interrupted the torment. Everyone froze.
A man—one of the guards—lay sprawled on the floor near the center of the warehouse, blood pooling beneath his head. His neck was twisted at an unnatural angle, eyes wide open in frozen shock.
"What the—?!" one of the kidnappers gasped, instinctively aiming his gun at the window above.
There.
The one if the kidnappers lead the children to another room and lock the door.then came back
From the broken window on the upper level, Mia emerged, stepping out like the ghost of vengeance. Her long, blood-splattered hospital gown fluttered slightly as she held a bloody metal pipe in one hand. Her face was blank—expressionless—except for the slight tilt of her head and the eerie glint in her eye.
The kidnappers didn't even get the chance to shout.
The lights went out.
Darkness swallowed the warehouse whole.
A second passed.
Then—
"AHHH!"
BANG!
THUD!
"SOMEONE'S HERE!"
SCREAMING.
CRACK. SNAP.
Children huddled behind crates and corners, their terrified sobs blending with the brutal sounds of bones breaking, guns firing blindly, and screaming men being dragged into the shadows.
Mia moved like a whisper. Like smoke. No one could see her—only feel her, when her blows landed.
By the time the lights flickered back on, silence had fallen again.
The once-mighty kidnappers were now piled in the center of the room, groaning. Every single one of them had their limbs bent backward—broken like snapped twigs. Blood dripped from their mouths. Some were tied with their own belts, duct tape, or scraps of cloth. Others had pissed themselves.
Their eyes, those were the worst. They were wide, bloodshot, trembling—not just from pain, but from pure horror. They had stared death in the face. And she wore a pretty white gown.
Mia calmly dusted her hands, her face still blank as if she'd just finished cleaning the kitchen, not committing aggravated assault.
She stepped over bodies like a princess avoiding mud,then she Walk to the room where the children where she open the door then reached Mike and gently helped him sit up. His face was pale, hands trembling, one arm limp from where it had been broken.
"Still alive?" she asked casually, tilting her head.
Mike nodded slowly, still stunned.
"Good."
She handed him a metal pole she'd picked up from the floor. "Here," she said, pointing at the boy who had betrayed them—the one who stood frozen, trembling, tears streaming down his face.
"I don't hit kids. It's bad for my image. But you—" she turned to Mike, offering a wicked little smile, "—you were almost mutilated because of him. Go on."
She stepped back and whispered, "Do it."
"No… please, ma, I'm sorry!" the older boy stammered, backing away on his knees, tears smearing dirt across his cheeks. "I was deceived… they said if I did this, I…"
He didn't get to finish.
WHACK.
Mike slammed the wooden pole across the boy's neck. The boy choked and fell to his side, groaning.
"Not like that," Mia said flatly, stepping over a fallen kidnapper and crouching beside him, her voice calm—almost casual. "Hitting the neck can kill too quickly. You won't enjoy it."
She tapped the pole with her slender fingers. "Go for areas that bruise but don't break. His butt. The back of his legs. His palms. Pain with no evidence."
Mike stared at her for a second—then nodded.
And he followed her instructions.
Thud. Thwack. Thud.
The boy screamed and writhed. Neo looked on with wide eyes, mouth slightly open in disbelief. Eventually, the older boy fainted, slipping into unconsciousness with a soft whimper.
Mike was breathing heavily, sweat dripping down his forehead.
Mia smiled.
"Feel better now?" she asked.
Before Mike could respond, she grabbed him by the collar.
"Now it's my turn."
Mike's eyes widened. "Wha—hey! Wait—M-Mom?!"
"You think you're grown now, huh? Just seven and already sneaking around behind my back, planning escapes, almost getting yourself killed?! Are you trying to make your mom die from a heart attack?!" Mia scolded as she sat down and yanked him over her lap.
SMACK. SMACK. SMACK.
"You think this is funny? Brave, huh? A hero?"
SMACK.
"No one came to save me… so you go and save others?!"
SMACK.
Neo stood frozen, his jaw on the floor. Mike struggled, flailed, and even hissed, but it was no use—Mia had him locked in position like a disciplinary ghost straight out of his nightmares.
Then the doors burst open.
"POLICE! HANDS UP!"
Mia immediately straightened up, sniffed, and pulled Mike into a dramatic hug, pressing him into her chest and patting his head gently.
"Oh my poor baby!" she wailed softly. "I received an anonymous call that my son was here… I couldn't wait—I called the police, of course—but I came rushing and found the poor boy unconscious! And these monsters, already tied up! What kind of madmen…!" She lowered her voice to a tearful whisper, "I think God was watching over my baby."
Mike blinked.
Neo blinked.
Then Mia winked.
Mike sniffed. Then began to sob loudly—very convincingly. The other children, hearing him cry, joined in, tears streaming as the trauma of the past three days broke loose.
The officers softened. One even knelt beside Mia and gently touched Mike's back.
"It's okay now, ma'am. You're safe. You're all safe. We'll take everyone to the station for medical attention and questioning. We're thankful you arrived when you did."
They were transported to the police station. Mia gave her statement—a carefully crafted story of maternal instinct, bravery, and divine luck. The children were examined, cared for, and comforted.
The kidnappers, meanwhile, had their tongues sliced, fingers dislocated or broken, and several joints shattered. One of them had a pipe still wedged between his ribs.
But—there were no fingerprints. No DNA. No hair strands.
Nothing that could link Mia to the massacre.
And when they tried questioning the older boy, he had no memory of the attack. Just pain and a dull, echoing fear.
The door to the station creaked open as a couple in their late forties stepped inside, looking nervous but relieved. The officer called out, "Neo, your guardians are here."
Neo's head snapped up. For a moment, he looked frozen, then slowly walked over. The woman gave him a tight-lipped smile, the man just nodded.
But instead of embracing them, Neo turned sharply and ran back to Mike.
"I—I wanna be friends with you," he blurted, pulling a scratched phone from his pocket. "Here, give me your number. So we can talk again, okay?"
Mike, still processing everything, blinked at him. Then he nodded and entered his number. They shared a small, awkward smile—two kids who'd just survived hell, now pretending to be normal.
Neo hesitated, then whispered, "You're cool... and your mom's scary. But in a good way."
Mia, who was leaning by the door with her arms crossed, let out a small chuckle.
Neo gave a final wave before following his guardians out.
As the automatic doors shut behind them, Mia turned to Mike. "Let's go home, brat."
Outside, a sleek black car was waiting. The familiar driver stepped out and bowed politely.
"Miss Maria. Master Mike. Mr. Marvin had an urgent meeting, so he sent me instead."
Mia nodded, slipping into the backseat with Mike beside her.
The doors shut with a soft thud, the tinted windows wrapping them in silence.
As the car pulled away, Mike finally exhaled, slumping into the seat. Mia glanced sideways, watching the bruises on his arm, the dried blood near his lip.
"You okay?" she asked flatly.
He gave a small nod, staring out the window.
Mia didn't press. She just leaned back, her sharp eyes narrowing.
---
Scene: Marvin's Study – Night
The room was dimly lit, the golden glow of the chandelier casting long shadows across dark wood shelves and sleek furniture. The scent of aged whiskey lingered in the air, mingling with his expensive cologne. It was quiet—too quiet. The kind of quiet that weighed heavy, like the calm before a storm.
Marvin sat behind his massive mahogany desk, flipping through a stack of confidential documents with cold precision.
James, his loyal assistant, stood a few steps away, hands behind his back, waiting for permission to speak.
"Mike has been found," James said carefully.
Marvin didn't look up. "Hmm."
James continued, "I investigated. It seems someone tipped Mia off. She contacted the police and went there herself. But by the time she arrived... the kidnappers were already neutralized."
The sound of paper stopped.
Marvin slowly set the document down and leaned back in his leather chair. He exhaled through his nose, controlled. Then, without a word, he reached for the crystal decanter and poured himself a glass of whiskey. The amber liquid caught the light as he swirled it gently, staring into it as though the drink itself might provide an answer.
"And the person who sent her the location?" Marvin asked quietly, his tone deceptively calm.
James shifted, lowering his gaze. "We haven't identified the source. It was... well covered."
Of course it was.
Everything now reeked of secrets. Someone was pulling strings behind the scenes—silently, surgically.
Marvin's eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze cutting to James from the corner of his eye.
And of course, it was our dear Dumplings, that covered mia tracks