"You heard the boss—let's move."
The command cracked through the night like a whip.
Within seconds a dozen men split into pairs and vanished into the city's veins. Normally the Tina Gang would spend weeks preparing—mapping routes, staking out targets, rehearsing every escape. Tonight there was no time. The Mafia's deadline loomed like a storm front, and hesitation meant death.
Engines rumbled to life. Black motorbikes with chrome edges and needle-thin headlights growled in unison, their designs unmistakable to anyone in the underworld. The beams cut through the humid darkness as the riders peeled off into different districts. Each pair carried a list of children whose routines had been quietly observed for months—a grim ledger finally called into action.
When the first team neared its target, the engines cut to a hush. The night swallowed the sudden silence. They rolled the bikes into a patch of overgrown weeds, muffling the glint of metal beneath sagging tarps. Even in a city they controlled, stealth mattered. The Tina Gang thrived on fear, not open war. If the local council or the people themselves united, even their fragile empire could collapse.
Two figures slipped from shadow to shadow toward a dense cluster of concrete apartments. Above them, neon advertisements flickered with glitchy light, briefly washing their faces in pink and blue. At the far end of the street crouched a single bungalow, small and self-contained, as if forgotten by time.
They moved like wraiths. Footsteps softened against cracked pavement; breath kept low and steady. One scanned windows and doorways while the other traced patterns of security lights. When they were sure no one watched, they crept closer.
A thin ribbon of yellow leaked from a side window. Inside, a boy lay sprawled on his bed, chin in his palms, a storybook open before him. He was maybe eight, lost in a world of dinosaurs. He never saw the shadow that slid across the glass.
The intruders exchanged a glance and nodded. With practiced ease they worked the latch. A soft pop, a faint crack of breaking glass, and the window eased inward. Cool night air rushed across the boy's face.
He gasped, eyes wide.
Before a sound left his throat, a gloved hand clamped over his mouth.
Moments later the room was empty save for a half-open book and a scatter of glass shards that caught the moonlight like tiny, cold stars.
Across Tina City, other pairs were at work—ghosts drifting through alleys, moving doors silently on greased hinges, spiriting children into the dark. Only two boys knew what was truly happening, and they were miles away, powerless.
---
In a wealthier district, the night smelled of trimmed grass and expensive perfume. Smart-lamps glowed along pristine walkways, their sensors whispering to one another in quiet pings. Here, manicured lawns and sleek houses reflected the prosperity of Tina City's elite.
Inside one of those houses, a little girl giggled at the cartoon flickering across a thin wall-screen. The living room was painted a soft rose, accented with white trim and fresh flowers whose fragrance floated through the air like a lullaby. She wore a puffed pink nightgown fit for a storybook princess, her black hair tied into a bun with two stray strands curling around her cheeks.
"Ha-ha-ha!" She clapped her hands at a silly moment, then crossed her arms in mock annoyance.
"Why is Mommy taking so long? She promised she'd be back soon. When she finally comes home, I'm not even going to talk to her. Humph."
The girl eyed the pink digital clock on the wall. A gap in her front teeth showed when she puffed her cheeks.
"If she's not back in five minutes, I'm calling her again," she announced to the empty room.
Knock.
Knock.
Two sharp raps at the door.
Her face brightened instantly. "Mommy!" she squealed, racing across the carpet. The unease fluttering in her stomach barely registered. Mommy usually opened the door herself—she had a spare key and could always use the biometric scanner—but excitement drowned the warning.
She flung the door open.
Two men filled the doorway. One was tall and thick-set, scalp shaved to a polish. The other was lanky, with a shock of red spikes catching the porch light.
"You owe me a hundred," the thin one said, grinning. "Told you she'd open up."
"In your dreams," the big man scoffed.
The girl blinked, the hair on her arms prickling. Something was wrong. Mommy never knocked. And strangers never smiled like that.
Fear surged. She shoved at the door, trying to slam it shut, but a heavy hand stopped it cold.
Heart hammering, she turned and bolted. Bare feet pounded the staircase, the sound echoing like drumbeats.
"You can't run, sweetheart," the red-haired man called, his laugh slicing through the hallway. "Your fate's already sealed."
She didn't dare look back. In her room she slammed the door and twisted the lock, breath ragged. Tears blurred her vision as she spotted the landline phone on her desk. Mommy. Call Mommy. Someone.
She snatched the receiver.
Bang!
The door burst inward. Wood splintered like a gunshot.
"Oh no you don't," the bald man said, stepping inside with terrifying calm. One sweep of his arm sent the phone crashing to the floor, plastic shattering.
Her scream barely formed before a thick hand covered her mouth. Darkness came a heartbeat later.
---
Minutes crawled by.
A black taxi with crimson headlights glided to the curb. A woman stepped out, smoothing the wrinkles from her dress, the scent of late-night rain clinging to her coat.
"Have a good night, madam," the driver said politely.
"And you as well," she replied with a tired smile, lifting a grocery bag from the back seat.
She exhaled as she approached her house—then froze.
Neighbors huddled near her front door, their voices low and urgent. The door itself stood open, yawning like a wound. Cold air poured from the gap.
For a heartbeat she wondered if she'd come to the wrong house. The scene felt distant, unreal.
"Mrs. Grant!" A neighbor broke from the group, eyes red and streaming. She ran forward, words snagging on sobs.
"Your daughter—" another sob—"your daughter's been taken!"
The woman's world tilted. The grocery bag slid from her grip, oranges rolling across the walk.
"Who… who is missing?" she whispered, though the answer burned in her chest.
She stumbled through the door, calling into the echoing house.
"Minny! Minny!"
Only silence replied, heavy as stone.
---
Outside, the city continued its restless rhythm—hover-cars gliding overhead, neon ads pulsing on distant towers—unaware that a quiet terror was unfolding in its streets. In alleys and abandoned lots, more black bikes waited with engines idling. Children vanished like smoke, one after another, until the night itself seemed to swallow their cries.
Somewhere across town, Pete and Sam remained the only ones who knew the pattern behind the chaos. And they had no idea that, even as they argued over what to do, the Mafia's deadline was already drawing near.
******