Chapter 13: The Discovery
"Wait, wait," Sam's voice cut in, tense but curious. "Start from the very beginning."
Pete hesitated on the other end of the call. His throat was dry, his hands clammy despite the cool evening air. How do I even explain this? he thought.
"Alright," he muttered, swallowing hard. "But you're not going to believe this."
---
Sunny Mart, Earlier That Day
Pete never realized how quiet Sunny Mart felt without Sam until now. The endless beeping of scanners and hum of the freezers pressed down on him like background noise designed to irritate. Normally Sam would've been cracking jokes, complaining about rude customers, or daring him to race down the aisles with carts. But today? Just silence.
Sam was on forced leave—boss's orders—and Pete was stuck pulling double weight.
He shoved a box of canned soup onto the shelf, muttering under his breath. Lucky bastard gets to nap while I'm drowning in aisle five.
"You look like someone just stole your lunch money."
The voice came from behind. Pete turned to find Deborah leaning lazily against the counter.
Deborah wasn't like most of the Sunny Mart crew. Her uniform was regulation, but everything else screamed defiance. Black hair with streaks of deep violet, silver chains jangling at her wrists, nails painted a glossy obsidian. Her lipstick matched. A single cross earring dangled on the left, while a skull stud pierced the right. She had the kind of look that made people assume "goth equals mean," but Pete knew better.
She smirked. "Boss told me you've been sulking ever since Sam took leave."
Pete frowned. "Sulking? I call it 'unappreciated labor.' Big difference."
"Mm-hmm," she said, drawing out the syllables. "Translation: you miss your buddy."
Pete opened his mouth, then shut it. "...Maybe."
Deborah chuckled, scanning a customer's groceries with lazy efficiency. "Don't worry. He'll be back to annoy you in no time. Until then, guess you'll just have to endure actual work."
Pete shot her a glare, but there was no bite to it. Deborah had a way of cutting through the nonsense and making it sting just enough to be funny.
By closing time, Pete's back ached from stocking and his patience had worn thin. He waved goodbye to Deborah and the others, shouldering his bag.
---
The Walk Home
Pete adjusted his glasses as he stepped out into the twilight streets. The city glowed in shades of neon and soft amber, the last hints of sunlight dying on the horizon. Numerous cars hummed overhead on the elevated traffic routes, while ground vehicles slipped past in sleek silence, their headlights reflecting off the wet pavement from an earlier drizzle.
He pushed his hands into his pockets, exhaling. Finally. Peace.
Pete didn't always wear his glasses—they weren't prescription, not really. Just a personal project he'd tinkered with until they became something unique. Sleek black frames, ordinary to anyone else, but inside, a system he'd customized himself: adjustable zoom lenses linked to an earpod, sound filters, noise cancellation that could cut through a crowd and isolate the conversation of whoever he zoomed in on.
A normal pair cost a few credits on the open market. His version? Priceless.
He cut through his usual route, which took him past an industrial block—warehouses long abandoned, now just shadows against the skyline. He preferred this way home. Less crowded. Quiet.
Too quiet tonight.
That's when he saw it.
---
An SUV idled near one of the warehouses, its surface sleek, futuristic, tinted windows reflecting the dim streetlights. Two men in suits stood nearby—broad shoulders, clean cuts, dark glasses even in the fading light. Mafia, though Pete didn't know that yet.
Closer to the warehouse door, four men lounged in postures that screamed arrogance. Their clothes weren't shabby; futuristic fabrics, jackets marked with bold white "T" insignias stitched at the shoulder. Tina Gang.
Pete's steps slowed. His pulse quickened.
What the hell are they doing here?
One man caught his eye—a stranger, clearly not Tina Gang. Short black hair, tanned skin, a scar cutting under his left eye. His posture radiated control, his words sharp even though Pete was too far to hear them yet.
Then Pete noticed something else. A snake tattoo. Emerald green, curling just beneath the man's left ear.
Pete's curiosity flared, reckless as always. He ducked into the shadows, heart pounding.
---
From his cover behind a broken metal crate, Pete slid his glasses higher on his nose. He tapped the frame twice, lenses adjusting. The distant figures snapped into crisp detail; the earpod caught their words as if they stood beside him.
"Thank God I brought these today," he muttered without realizing.
The SUV sharpened in focus, the men clearer, voices trickling through his earpod as if he were standing right beside them.
Noise-canceling systems hummed. Street sounds muted. Only their voices remained.
Pete's stomach knotted. This… this is bad.
---
(The Meeting)
" Mr cipher, I hope there is no problem with the goods we sent?" A voice asked.
The scarred man—Cipher ,his voice was calm, but there was steel beneath it.
"You sent fourteen over to us instead of the required amount."
The one who seemed to be the leader of the "Tina group", a stocky man with tattoos creeping up his neck, shifted nervously. "We're working on it. Kids don't just—"
Cipher raised a hand. The motion alone silenced him.
"The boss asked for twenty. Not fourteen. Twenty." His accent carried a sharp edge, his tone unwavering. "And he asked for them by Wednesday."
One of the Tina Gang members cursed under his breath. "That's impossible. We need more time."
Cipher's expression didn't change. "Wednesday."
The silence that followed was suffocating. Even through the glasses, Pete could feel the tension.
"Fail," Cipher continued coldly, "and your little operation here will cease to exist, I don't need to remind you of what happens to those who don't deliver, so by Wednesday make the goods ready. Do I make myself clear?"
The Tina Gang leader nodded quickly. Sweat glistened on his brow despite the cool night air.
Cipher stepped back, signaling to his men. The Mafia members slid into the SUV, doors clicking shut with precise finality. The engine hummed, and in seconds, the vehicle was gone—leaving only the Tina Gang behind.
---
The Rage
The leader spun on his subordinates, fury boiling over.
"You heard him! We need six more, and we need them before Wednesday!" His voice echoed off the warehouse walls, harsh and venomous.
One of the younger gang members hesitated. "But we don't have—"
"I don't care!" the leader roared, face red with rage. "Go into the city and get those damn kids! Irrespective of their gender or status—I don't give a damn who they are. Just. Get. Them."
His words slammed into Pete like ice water.
From his hiding spot, Pete's hands trembled. His breath came shallow, his mind racing. Children. They're abducting children.
He swallowed hard, forcing himself not to move, not to make a sound. If they found him here…
But he couldn't unhear it. And now, Sam needed to know.
---
Back to the Call
On the other end, Sam was silent as Pete recounted everything, his voice shaking.
Finally, Pete whispered the words that had haunted him since he'd slipped back into the safety of his apartment.
"Sam… what are we going to do?"
******