The trucks rumbled to a stop outside a sprawling mansion. It belonged to none other than Mr. Tavros, the infamous kingpin dealer of drugs and trafficker of humans, especially the young ones sold off for twisted experiments.
He stepped out of his sleek car with calm authority, every movement deliberate. His men, six hulking figures in heavy masks fell into line. Without a word, they pried open the containers, muscles straining as they hauled the crates of contraband inside.
From a distance, a lone figure sat astride her bike, hidden in the shadows at the back of the estate. She stayed perfectly still, eyes locked on every movement.
Moments later, the mansion doors open. A line of teenagers, bound in chains, walked out, with faces streaked with tears, voices cold as they begged for help. Twenty in total.
"Boss," one guard called out, his voice.
"The shipment's ready. Kids are prepped for transfer to the factory. Project 312."
Tavros gave a slight nod. "Good. Get it done."
"Yes, boss."
He waved them off. Two of the guards shoved the frightened teenagers into the waiting truck while the others remained stationed at the gates. Tavros, unbothered, turned his back on the cries and strode toward his mansion, his white shoes crunching on the gravel like a final statement.
Engines roared. The truck carrying the chained children began to pull away under the watchful eyes of the guards.
From the shadows, the figure tightened her grip on the handles of her motorbike. With a spark and a growl of the engine, she took off, tailing the vehicle. Her mission was clear, she would not let those kids vanish into darkness.
The woman gunned her bike forward, the engine screaming as she closed in on the truck.
"Someone's on our tail!" one of the men shouted, leaning forward to check the side mirror.
The rider pushed harder, weaving through the bullets as another leaned out of the truck with a gun. Sparks flew as shots cracked through. She dodged every one until his aim dropped to her wheels. A single shot hit true, bursting her tire. The bike swerved, throwing her off but instead of crashing, she caught the side of the truck with a swift grab and swung herself up, clinging to the metal like a shadow.
"She's on the roof!" one man yelled.
"I'll handle it," he growled, hauling himself onto the top.
He squared up, facing her across the roaring wind. "Who the hell are you? What do you want?"
The woman didn't waste her breath on answers. She slipped a small blade from her boot, her stance sharp and controlled. With a sudden burst of speed, she slid low between his legs, the knife flashing upward. The steel sank deep into his thigh. He screamed loudly that frightened the driver to panic.
Before he could react, she kicked him forward. He didn't realize is too late that she'd already planted two knives upright in the roof as she slid through his legs. His body dropped, then his skull slamming onto the blades. Silence followed, except for the rush of the truck's wheels.
She wasted no time. Sprinting forward, she reached the cab and swung the driver's door open. One kick sent him tumbling out onto the road. Grabbing the wheel, she pulled the truck into a sharp turn, nearly toppling it before she steadied control.
Inside, the children wailed and screamed, their cries shaking the metal walls. She clenched her jaw, forcing the truck through the streets until the police station came into sight. Grinding it to a halt right at the steps, she didn't wait for thanks. Without a word, she leapt off the truck and vanished away.
The loud screech of brakes drew several officers outside the station. Their eyes narrowed at the truck idling by the steps. What caught them off guard wasn't the vehicle—it was the faint cries echoing from the container.
"Break it open!" one barked.
They snapped the lock within seconds, swinging the doors wide. Inside, twenty teenagers huddled together, chains clinking as they tried to shield their faces from the sudden light. Some were pale and weak, others trembling with fever.
One officer gasped. "Aren't these… the missing kids?"
Another leaned closer, his voice low but certain. "It has to be them. Every one of them."
"Forget the how," their captain cut in, firm but relieved. "What matters is they're alive. Take them inside, get their statements, and contact their families."
"Yes, sir!"
---
That evening, every news station carried the story.
[Breaking News: This is Officer Darius reporting live from Westvale Police Station. Today we bring you good news. The twenty teenagers believed to have been kidnapped were found this afternoon. A heavy truck suddenly appeared at the front of our station with the victims locked inside. No driver was seen. Whoever risked their life to rescue these children—we owe you our deepest thanks.]
---
Meanwhile, at Tavros's mansion.
The report blared from the TV. Tavros's face darkened. His hand slammed against the table with a force that rattled the glasses.
"Get my guard. Now."
One of his men hurried in, tense and alert.
Tavros's voice dripped with fury. "We're going to the factory. The President will be expecting those teenagers, and now they're gone. If we don't explain ourselves before word reaches him, it'll be too late."
"Yes, boss."
Deep underground, hidden from the public eye, stretched a vast factory. Its purpose was sinister, children were dragged here, broken down, then rebuilt through cruel experiments. They were meant to be reshaped into weapons, tools for the dark ambitions of men.
The crown jewel of these experiments was Project 312. Scientists injected children with modified blood, turning them into something beyond human, superhuman. The man behind it all was Mr. Fenris, a survivor of tragedy. Soldiers had slaughtered his family when he was a boy. Alone and bitter, he carved his own path through blood and shadows until he built this empire of horror.
Inside the dimly lit hall, Fenris's voice echoed coldly.
"Where are the teenagers?"
A guard shifted nervously, but before he could answer, Tavros walked in with his usual calm. Behind him loomed their silent truth, the President himself was entangled in their crimes.
"The kids are gone," Tavros said flatly.
Fenris's eyes widened. "What?"
"Someone rescued them," Tavros continued. His tone sharpened. "Which means we've been watched. There's a spy among us."
Fenris began pacing, his mind racing for solutions. The air grew heavy with his silence before he finally spoke.
"If that's the case, then we move forward with Project 22. Send them into the schools. Let them blend in. They'll bring us more children, more candidates."
"How ready is Project 22?" Tavros asked.
Fenris smirked. "Unlike 312, which demands countless sacrifices, Project 22 is already perfected. They were built as natural-born predators, strong, gifted, human in appearance but superior in every way. They'll draw others in without suspicion."
Tavros's lips curled into a cruel grin.
"Good. Once the world's eyes shift away from us, 312 will resume. And then—"
Fenris threw his head back and laughed, the sound echoing through the steel walls.
"—the world will be ours!"
Their laughter overlapped, sharp and venomous, filling the underground factory with the promise of chaos.