---
Stacy's scream pierced the air, raw and primal, mixing with the acrid stench of burnt flesh. The men surrounding her burst into laughter, their mirth twisted and cruel.
"I thought she wasn't going to cry at all," one of them managed to say through fits of laughter, tears forming in his eyes from the amusement they took in her pain. Their cruel delight hung heavy in the room, making it feel suffocating.
Stacy's small body trembled violently, both from the searing pain and the overwhelming fear that gripped her. She looked down at the burn on her leg, her skin raw and blistering, the flesh still pulsing from the heat. Her vision blurred with tears, but none of them fell. She wouldn't let them.
"You won't cry, huh?" Boss Scorpion growled, his voice low and menacing. His eyes blazed with anger as he raised the hot metal rod again, clearly frustrated that no tears had spilled from her eyes. "You think you're tough enough to hold it in?" His voice was full of menace, the rod poised to strike once more, as if he couldn't stand the thought of her resisting his cruelty.
One of the men, younger than the others, stepped forward cautiously. "Boss, she might not survive if you keep torturing her like this," he said, his voice less cruel, more calculated. "She's just a child. Her body might not be able to handle any more. Big boss made it clear—she's not to die." His tone was steady, a calm within the chaos of the room.
Boss Scorpion hesitated, eyes flicking to the man who had spoken. His lips curled into a sneer, but he lowered the rod. "You're lucky, girl," he spat at Stacy, his voice filled with rage. "I was told not to kill you." He shot a murderous glare at her before storming out of the room, his lackeys trailing behind him, still chuckling to themselves.
The younger man, the one with stormy grey eyes, sighed in relief once Boss Scorpion was out of earshot. He moved toward Stacy, who sat limply, her head down, her breath coming in shaky gasps. Her face was contorted in pain, and her once pale, unmarked skin was now marred by angry red burns. She stared blankly at her lap, where her legs throbbed with the relentless burn.
"Why didn't you just do what he said?" the man asked quietly, kneeling beside her. He reached out and gently began untying the ropes that bound her small wrists to the chair. Her hands were raw, deep red lines etched into her skin from where the ropes had dug in too tightly.
"My sister told me to be strong," Stacy whispered, her voice barely audible, strained from holding back her sobs. "She told me not to cry, no matter what."
The man paused, his hand stilling as he took in her words. Her innocence struck him deeply—this small, fragile child clinging to her sister's advice even in the face of unimaginable pain. He looked into her large, tear-filled eyes, and for a moment, he was reminded of someone else. Someone he had once cared for deeply.
"But sometimes," he began, choosing his words carefully, "sometimes we need to cry, even if it's just to survive. It doesn't mean you're weak."
Stacy blinked up at him, confused. "Are you saying I should cry?"
"Not all the time," the man said softly. "But sometimes, crying helps. It can make the pain a little easier to bear." His voice was almost gentle now, trying to help her understand.
Stacy hesitated for a moment, then, as if the dam finally broke, she burst into quiet sobs, her tiny body shaking as she allowed the tears to fall freely. The young man watched, his heart tightening in his chest. Her small, pale face reddened from the crying, and her blonde hair fell messily over her eyes.
She reminded him so much of someone—someone long gone, but still very present in his memories. He swallowed hard, blinking away his own emotions.
"Sshh, quiet now," he whispered hurriedly as footsteps echoed in the hallway. "Someone's coming. I have to leave, but remember what I said." He stood quickly, glancing toward the door. "Do what the boss says if you want to live." His tone held a note of urgency, and for a brief moment, something close to compassion flickered in his eyes.
"What's your name, uncle?" Stacy asked through her sniffles, her large, innocent eyes looking up at him with a strange mixture of trust and curiosity.
"My name isn't important, girl," the man replied gruffly, though his expression softened slightly. "Just remember what I told you." With that, he re-tied her hands to the chair, but this time the knots were loose enough that she could move a little more freely if needed.
---
On the other end of the phone, a loud voice barked out an impatient command. "Did you get the video?"
Boss Scorpion gulped, sweat beading on his brow as he clutched the phone tightly. "Boss, the girl refused to cry," he admitted, his voice tense.
"Did you torture her? I said I wanted her to cry, no matter what!" the voice on the other end of the line growled in response, fury bubbling just beneath the surface.
"I did, boss," Boss Scorpion stammered, his voice shaking slightly. "I even burned her leg, but she wouldn't cry. If I'd gone any further, I think she might've died from the pain."
There was a long pause on the other end. Then the voice sighed, more exasperated than angry now. "Hmm. So she's pretending to be strong, just like her sister." The voice softened, the tone now cold and calculating. "Don't torture her any further today. Remember what I said—never scar her anywhere visible."
"Understood, boss," Boss Scorpion replied, breathing a sigh of relief as the call ended abruptly. He quickly pocketed the phone, switching it off before placing it in a drawer.
The man lay back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, his expression darkening. "Sophie, Sophie, Sophie," he muttered to himself, a slow, sinister smile spreading across his face. "How long do you think you can keep hiding from me? How long before you come begging for money, pretending you're still strong?"
His laughter started low, almost like a growl, but soon it grew louder, more deranged, filling the room with the sound of his maniacal glee.
"I'm ready to wait, my dear," he whispered to himself, his voice dripping with anticipation, before laughing once more like a madman lost in his own twisted world.