I lifted my gaze slightly from my book when I heard my mother's call. A waste of time, I thought, though I understood I should take advantage of the moment; after all, you never know when you'll get another chance to see a doctor.
Thunk!
A dry sound echoed in the air, followed by Mikasa's sharp scream. I dropped the book and opened the door as quickly as I could, only to find my father's body slumped on the floor, a deep stab wound in his liver. His pulse was faint, his eyes already empty as blood freely spread across the floor, forming a dark and thick pool.
A part of me wanted to stop the bleeding, to do something—anything—but the reality was inescapable: there was no saving him. My father was going to die; that much was certain.
I looked forward and saw my mother desperately struggling against the grip of a man, her frantic movements useless. Another man, with a cruel and filthy face, kept Mikasa pinned to the floor as she writhed in vain. Her small screams cut through the air like blades.
I quickly assessed the possibilities. None offered a solution. If I had opened the door instead, at least I could've used my reflexes to avoid being cornered. But now, there was no turning back.
Being weak is a sin. The weak inevitably become prey to others. Just look at my father—the previous one, I mean. That man ended the lives of who knows how many children for selfish goals, destroyed his son's childhood, and still lived a long and comfortable life.
Now I watch my current father: a kind, honest man, condemned to a pointless death.
All because of his lack of power.
In less than a second after stepping inside, the man swings his axe with brutal precision. The blade strikes my mother's neck, producing a dry, almost surreal sound that cuts through the air before blood gushes out like a torrent. Her body falls lifeless to the floor as the shouts of the men around barely register in my mind.
My senses are clouded by the noise and the metallic stench that fills the room, but I force myself to think clearly: these men didn't come here by chance. They probably came for women to sell as slaves. It's a horrific fate, but if they capture me, I'm as good as dead.
I try to move, to calculate an escape route, but something inside me fails. For the first time in my life, my legs don't respond. An invisible weight keeps me anchored to the ground. My hands tremble slightly, as though my body is fighting to maintain the calm my mind no longer possesses.
I know I can take them down. I evaluate their movements, their clumsy stances, their defensive gaps. I could disarm them one by one, but... is it worth it?
Mikasa is already in their hands, and my family lies dead at my feet.
My eyes settle on my mother's corpse, her blood spreading across the floor like an endless stain. I take a deep breath before speaking.
"I won't resist," I finally say, forcing myself to swallow the rage threatening to consume me. "Just... don't touch Mikasa."
My words are monotonous and calculated. My only goal is to protect what's left.
Seconds later, a dry blow to my face knocks me to the ground.
—
"Hey, are these two even worth it after all this mess?" The rough voice of a man resounds above me, devoid of empathy. "We killed their parents just to kidnap them..."
His words fade as another man, a few meters away, speaks with evident authority.
"Take a good look at her face."
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the first man step on Mikasa, forcing her to turn her face toward him. His expression remains cold, almost bored.
"Not bad... but she's just a kid," he says, his voice turning icy. "Not my type."
The leader responds with disdain, "I don't care about your preferences." He pauses, then his tone becomes meticulous, almost academic.
"She's oriental. Did you know there used to be other human races?"
The man lets out a disgusting laugh.
"They're the last descendants of a family that fled from the Orient before the walls were built. Seems like some perverts would pay a fortune to fulfill their fetishes in the capital's black market."
He takes a moment to choose his words carefully before adding cruelly, "The other Orientals were annihilated. Both of them will fetch a very good price."
The first man frowns. "Her father doesn't look Oriental. I doubt they're pureblood."
Before he can continue, the leader slams the ground in frustration, his irritation evident.
"Exactly! That's why the mother was the real jackpot! And you, idiot, had to scare her and kill her."
This is humanity...
Cruel, predictable, always the same, no matter where you are.
Here, in this white room, or any other corner of the world, human nature doesn't change.
In the end, there will always be someone willing to reduce you to a simple object—a product to be bought, sold, or destroyed when it loses its value.
I thought I'd never see white walls again.
But now, these walls... they're just like those in that place.
—
The door bursts open, startling the men. A faint creak breaks the tension, followed by the trembling voice of a child.
"Excuse me..."
"Hey, kid! What the hell are you doing here?" One of the men frowns and steps toward the entrance, irritated.
The boy steps back, visibly frightened, though his voice struggles to stay firm.
"Uhm... I got lost in the forest..." he said clumsily. "And I saw the cabin..."
He's lying. I can tell.
The man changes his expression, plastering on a fake smile as he adopts a sweet tone.
"Oh... a child shouldn't be wandering alone in the forest. There are terrifying wolves around here..."
He places a hand on the boy's head, patting it condescendingly.
"But don't worry, you won't have to be afraid anymore if you come with us—"
The sound is subtle, barely a soft "click," but unmistakable.
"Thank you, sir." The boy's voice shifts abruptly, the sweetness disappearing. "I get it now... DIE, BASTARD!"
The man barely has time to widen his eyes before collapsing to the ground, an improvised knife buried in his throat. His body convulses as blood spills in frantic spasms.
The other man, stunned, stands up abruptly but fails to react in time.
The boy is already out the door.
Before he can give chase, something pierces his neck.
His eyes widen as he feels the crude piece of wood lodged in his flesh. He gulps desperately but only manages to produce a wet, grotesque gurgle.
I stand right behind him, my wrists still bleeding from cutting the ropes.
"Relax..." I whisper, leaning close to his ear. "You won't die quickly. You'll choke on your own blood for several minutes."
His body trembles as the air refuses to enter his lungs.
I didn't want to show this part of me. I wanted to keep it buried, hidden from everyone.
But now...
I can't help it.
I really wanted to see him die.
—
I hope you enjoyed the prologue. The real story begins in the next chapter.