The room echoed with the desperate breaths of a helpless man, his throat parched with despair.
His wrists and ankles were tightly bound to the metal chair where he sat. And he wriggled against the restraints but his struggles were pointless.
The chakra-infused chains tore deeper and deeper into his skin, telling him he could never escape.
Tears soaked his eyes and he cocked his head back rueing the miserable life choices that led him here.
That darned contractor promised him an easy job: kidnap some munchkin and deliver her to the employer. The target's background was hidden from him but even he could tell that she was some esteemed family's young miss.
'Fiftay maylion quids'— the contractor said in his cunning southern Helburk accent that sounded even more exaggerated than usual.
He should have known better. Those bloody underground brokers with their fucking load of bull. But desperation had clouded his judgment. His pockets were bone dry, and the offer seemed too sweet to pass up, tempting him with the allure of easy money.
A part of him felt sorry for the target, but business is business. He had learned to overcome the guilt when he first snatched a child eleven years ago.
Survival had a way of numbing one's conscience. Yet now, bound in this dark, airless room, his face swelled up in regret, his skin prickled with sweat.
He hoped they would keep him here and not hand him over to the Dell Corp. The thought of prison made his blood run cold; he couldn't go back there again even if they paid him to.
When the horrifying memories of his time in the can began surfacing, he bit his lower lip, shaking off the traumatic images.
He shouldn't have agreed to the dodgy contract. But now that it has come to this, being tied up in a mysterious dark room was a lot better than prison. At least here, there were no lust-driven inmates to be worried about. He just needed to endure long enough, good things happen to those who wait.
The man shut his eyes and sighed, oblivious to how much time had gone by since he was first locked in this room.
"If only they'll give me some food," he muttered hopelessly, stomach growling with gnawing hunger.
Then, as if summoned by his plea, the metallic, rolling door rattled open, flooding the room with blinding light.
The man squinted, trying to see through the assault of brightness. Footsteps echoed, growing louder and louder with each step.
His heart pounded when a tall, suited figure stopped in his front, shadowy against the blinding light. But he couldn't let go of this chance.
"Please..." he croaked, his voice barely audible. "I'll do anything, just get me something to drink. Booze, water, anything..."
A brief silence swallowed them until a voice emerged at the entrance, gripping the man's attention.
"Quite interesting. Your first request wasn't even for freedom..." The voice said. And the man instantly shuddered, glancing toward the smaller, elfin figure it belonged to. "But you're in luck; Beatrice here saw this much coming"
A metal bucket clanged above him. And as he looked up, Beatrice tipped the bucket over his head, drenching him with a cold splash.
The man gasped in shock, coughing and blowing his nose frantically to clear the water clogging his nostrils and throat.
"Cough Cough. You're not just going to... Cough... to let me leave anyway..." His words slurred, laden with the weight of shame.
Yes, he was embarrassed with himself; who wouldn't be? He thought back to the day he was supposed to carry out the job. The most shameful experience in all his fourty-one years of existence.
—
Snow had engulfed the whole world in delicate cloaks of white. Blanketed asphalt floors, kids bundled up in layers— enjoying their weekend, icicles hanging on bare pines and oaks, coffee shops buzzing with customers of all ages and statuses. A classic winter Saturday, one he would willingly trade half his soul to erase.
Wrapped in his favorite scarf— a brown muffler his daughter gave him as a birthday present— he embarked on the day's quest feeling positive and full of life.
The target sat alone in the vista corner of a bustling bakery coffeehouse. Her hair was extremely pale blond, like ivory against the backdrop of steamed windows.
He was certain that she was alone but he couldn't make his move just yet. Patience, he needed to observe. To find the right opportunity, a time and place with not many people around.
Clutching his empty stomach, he watched her sip her coffee, nibble on apple pie and a darned crescent-shaped croissant which she couldn't even finish. He wasn't pissed that she was inadvertently mocking him, just that she sure took her bloody darned time doing it.
Then, she headed for the eternal library— a monumental building, more reminiscent of a museum than a library.
The man followed, trailing her for over six hours as she rifled through several aisles of books.
She started with a teen-romance novel, then moved on to the chakra technique section, where she examined a few manuals and scrolls. Next, she read a non-fiction prose before shifting her attention to construction guides on electronic and mechanical chakra restraints.
She also read through some psychological thriller plays and concluded her session studying advanced textbooks on fluid mechanics, biomechanical automation and control fucking theory.
What on earth is her deal?— he could only begin to wonder.
At this point, he had realized his target wasn't the usual obnoxious little shrew. But patience. It was only a matter of time until the right opportunity presented itself.
The target wandered through the nearby commoner districts. Children adored her, adults greeted her, waving, calling her name with respect and reverence.
He should have thrown in the towel and run away when he heard them call her princess, but greed clawed at his skin.
He couldn't wait to hear the ATM machine ching after he claimed his reward. Finally, he could land himself a proper meal, a roof above his head albeit temporary.
As twilight painted the skies, he felt some weight lift off his neck and shoulders. The decisive moment was upon him. He readied himself as she stepped into the same antique shop she had visited before.
Not long after, she exited the shop, a bag clutched in her gloved hand. A present, perhaps? She had probably asked them to prepare it in advance the first time she stopped by.
He was about to make his move when she stopped, and struck him with her gaze from across the street.
His heart seized but he kept his calm and responded with a look that said So what?, conveying his refusal to be intimidated.
But as she smirked, tapping the brown muffler wrapped around her neck, the man's eyes widened. He touched his neck frantically, realizing his muffler was gone. How did she—
Before he could react, she had begun sprinting away. Her speed was remarkable given her delicate appearance. But it was trifling to an S-ranker such as himself.
He gave chase. And following minutes of the tactical pursuit, he finally cornered her in a dim alley— an unwitting kidnapper facing his prey.
"Sorry, young miss..." He sneered, advancing slowly. "But I'll be taking the fifty mil."
His chakra-slated fist lunged toward her face, intent to scare her. But her hazel eyes held no fear. They locked onto him, ferocious and confident; the way a Lion would gaze at its prey.
Time slowed, and she reacted, her movements blurry. Then suddenly, his brown scarf wrapped around his hands, paralyzing him with shock.
His eyes widened as she slipped past, leaving him behind.
He yanked his hands apart to tear away from the woolen trap but heard metallic clangs. When he looked down, he saw that his wrists weren't bound by the muffler but by unyielding handcuffs— mechanical chakra restraints.
"Hey, get back here! You bloody illywhacker!" He roared, but she had reached the alley's exit.
She reached into the shopping bag and retrieved the satellite radio phone she bought at the antique shop, tossing the bag at him. Blue chakra erupted from it, magically transforming the bag into a cage, imprisoning the dumbstruck man.
Escape should have come easy but he struggled as the handcuffs disrupted his chakra flow. And the cage rapidly expanded, mocking his attempts to break free.
"Get back here!" He yelled, reaching his restrained hands towards the cage's metal bars. But they eluded him, expanding further every second.
To put it more accurately, his senses were disoriented, warping his perception of the cage's size and dimensions.
He struggled, struggled and struggled, unsure as to how long he struggled for. But by the time he escaped and located Inara, she had already contacted back up.
A tall, dark-suited woman stood between them in the openness of a desolate soccer turf. She started shooting poison needles from her hand chain bracelet and later attacked using the overpowered gauntlet on her other hand.
The man did fight with everything he had but he still lost. Not because he was weaker. But due to his disoriented sense of dimensions and spatial relationships.
This is how the mighty Andel Cognac got captured by a bloody thirteen-year-old D-ranker.
—