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This fanfiction article, DT 2021: Traffickers, was written by Distant Tide. Please do not edit this fiction without the writer's permission. |
Please… D-don’t take her…” The bloody and bounded man gasped out from atop his soiled carpet. “Please… She’s all I have left.”
The living room was a mess. Overturned furniture lay strewn across the floor and scrapped against walls. Valuable electronic appliances met fractured fates out a shattered midnight-cast window. Wall displays and pictures littered the room in pieces. Several fist-sized glass chunks stuck out from the bounded man’s grievous wounds – spotted maroon, twisted, and put there with the sheer force of intent.
“You had your chance to agree. You refused. This is the result.” A man behind a ski mask and dark glasses remarked in glee to his victim as a plain metal pipe bobbed in his hands. “I’m quite enjoying the consequence – how about you?”
The injured man made no noise in response, staring up at his tormentors in pained confusion. Escape was impossible while restrained at the ankles and wrists with industrial wiring, the kind used to build space elevators. Laid out on his belly, all he could do was strain to look upon his attackers and contemplate the matter of ‘why’. Not of the occurrence, but of the motivation. It all seemed so familiar but who took pleasure from this?
The small gathering loomed over him, watching from behind an assortment of masks and obscuring helmets. Some looked like clowns and athletes, others looked like soldiers and spacemen. They dressed in dark clothing, loose but fitting enough for the tropic climate.
A single standout and unmasked individual rested against the far wall, watching the loose circle of goons go about their routine. A clean-looking ODST helmet rested at his waist while a cigarette glowed between his puckered lips. The man, with his dirty blond hair and sharp blue eyes, not only stood out among his compatriots but among the local population too.
“Gabriel, you’ve asked him that four times already. His answer’s not going to change at this rate.”
The standout rose from his drywall perch, pushing himself upright and passing by the pipe-man in a few confident strides. The crowd parted in silence as the seeming presence of a leader emerged. Even the downed man could feel it, his body shivering at this blue-eyed predator in near-darkness. He kneeled so his knees hovered over the victim’s head.
“Adão Martin Irene. Do you know why we’re here?”
“Yes…” The bounded man admitted at barely a whisper.
“Then why didn’t you cooperate; why did you turn on your employer?”
“It was just business...always business. The Syndicate offered a better deal. But you… This isn’t business. The Cartel doesn’t operate this way.”
The predator did not smile or frown. His eyes never blinked, glowing like the cigarette that refused to fall from his lips.
“On the contrary. But you’re right, Casa de Cuchillos wouldn’t normally do this. But they’re doing it for me. They’re doing it because there’s no longer a choice. And I’m doing it for your daughter, and all the children you’ve disappeared. Gabe was right – it didn’t have to go this way.”
Adão attempted to hiss out his next words despite the fresh blood gushing from his wounds. “So… You’re going to cripple me? Take my daughter? You’re monstros. More reason to go with the Syndicate.”
“Hah, Syndicate… Right…” The predator managed a wistful chuckle before returning to his unfeeling, natural register. “The ones that use kids as sex slaves, organ cows, and food for fucking aliens… Whatever market the Syndicate can sell in, right? You’re full of shit. When you were with the Cartel – at least those you gave them got an education, a future, even a pathway to citizenship. You stole the future of 1,952 children. Not that you’d bother counting.”
“Fuck… You…” Adão managed to spit out.
“That was old the third time you said it.”
“Then how about you curl up and die.”
“Better. But not today, not for a long time, I hope. But you, your time’s up.”
“What do you want with my daughter? What did I ever do to you – I don’t even know you!” The bounded man gasped out, shuffling in a faux attempt to escape his binds.
“Your daughter doesn’t have long to live, but she’s still got an excellent nervous system as an AI donor. The Syndicate or ONI would’ve said the same. I’m just here to collect.” The predator explained with a shake of his head.
“Why bother tell me this—” Adão started only to be cut off with a harsh flick of the cigarette, dropping him into a hacking fit.
“I’m not doing it for you. I’m only saying it for my sake. The truth is that you and I are alike. We both trafficked children. I just did it behind a military rank. But more importantly, mine will be alive and healthy with a future. I really don’t feel sympathy for a creature like you, but I still get just a little vindication out of this before I put you down.”
“Go fuck yourself, Filho da Puta.” Adão hissed out with some real venom, spit flying onto the leader’s face.
The predator with blue eyes simply stood, not bothering to wipe off the saliva.
“Gabriel, the pipe.”
The metal cylinder glinted in the windowed city light as it passed from assaulter to leader. Despite a trembling fear and rage beneath Adão’s eyes, he could do nothing as the object gleamed above his head and came down.
The first hit smashed Adão’s jaw into the floor, bruising his chin. Light enough not to break bone, it seemed far more experimental as if the blue-eyed, son-of-a-whore wasn’t familiar with bashing people’s heads in. The second strike came down like a chopping axe, sending Adão into darkness. The third strike gave a wet and crackling crunch, like shattering a watermelon.