Luke and Adam made their way out of the cramped, chaotic common room and into the main corridor. The orphanage building itself was a tired, three-story structure that seemed to sag under its own weight. The walls were plastered with a peeling, sickly yellow paint, streaked by years of moisture and neglect. The air, perpetually cool and damp, carried the faint, mingled scent of old wood, cheap soap, and stale cabbage—the unappetizing aroma of poverty. Light struggled to penetrate the few small, high-set windows, leaving long stretches of the hallway draped in shadow.
The corridor eventually opened into the main hall. This room was clearly designated for official functions, a stark contrast to the rest of the building's decay. It was wider and had a higher ceiling, but its grandeur was faded. Heavy, crimson velvet curtains, frayed at the edges, hung over tall windows, muffling the sounds of the outside world. The floor was covered by a threadbare but once-magnificent rug, its intricate patterns long since worn smooth. In the center stood a single, large, dark mahogany table, currently empty.
Here, in the dim, oppressive space, Luke's gaze immediately landed on the three figures clustered by the table.
Mother Camel stood at the center, a woman whose name belied her appearance. She was gaunt and tall, with a pinched face and eyes that perpetually assessed objects—and people—for their market value. She wore a dark, severe dress that was too tight, giving her the appearance of a stretched, menacing shadow.
Flanking her were the so-called "parents." The man was sharply dressed in a pressed, dark blue suit with a gleaming silver pocket watch chain visible across his vest. He had a cruel, impatient mouth and eyes that darted nervously. The woman, equally neat in a severe, buttoned-up blouse and long skirt, forced a brittle, wide-toothed grin that didn't reach her cold, calculating eyes.
The sight of their neat attire, their obvious wealth, and their unsettlingly forced smiles caused a distinct, immediate apprehension to pool in Luke's stomach. This isn't adoption; this is commerce.
As Luke and Adam approached, the well-dressed couple abandoned their forced pleasantries with Mother Camel. The man's expression darkened with sudden irritation.
"Mother Camel," he stated, his voice a low, hard rumble that echoed slightly in the hall. "The agreement was for fifteen batches. We only received two from your inventory. Where are the rest?"
Luke froze, his own handsome face—framed by his striking bright orange hair—remaining carefully neutral. Batches. They spoke of them like cargo, not children.
Mother Camel offered a practiced, oily smile that did not soften her hard eyes. "A minor delay, sir. You can see the quality of what I've secured for you," she gestured toward Luke and Adam. "The remaining inventory is being finalized tonight. You will receive the rest of your shipment before midnight. You can collect all fifteen together then, guaranteeing discretion."
The couple exchanged a glance. The man nodded curtly, apparently satisfied by the assurance of the promised volume.
The woman then turned her attention to the two boys, and her brittle grin reappeared. "Excellent. We will come back for you two in the evening, dears. Be ready."
"Evening!" Adam chirped, his face lighting up with unadulterated joy. He began to bounce excitedly on his heels. "Luke, did you hear? We're both going! We'll be brothers! Best friends and brothers!"
Luke managed to plaster an enthusiastic, delighted expression onto his face. He even forced a small, high-pitched giggle to complete the performance for the adults. Mother Camel, seeing their feigned happiness, reached out a bony hand and patted both of their heads perfunctorily. Deep down, she felt a profound sense of relief—not affection. These two were just another successful transaction, two useless mouths being converted into much-needed money.
The moment they were released, Luke seized Adam's arm and practically dragged him away from the main hall's heavy atmosphere, pulling him through a maze of dusty back corridors toward a small, forgotten storeroom at the rear of the building—a place perpetually empty and unused.
"Luke! What's wrong? Why are we hiding?" Adam asked, his initial elation giving way to confusion.
Luke shut the door firmly, plunging the room into relative darkness. "We need to talk. Now. We have to escape this place and get as far away as possible, tonight," he declared, his voice low and urgent.
Adam's face instantly contorted with confusion, then disbelief, then pure, wounded anger. "Escape? Are you crazy? Escape from what? We're leaving! Our new parents are coming back for us!"
"They aren't parents, Adam. They're traffickers. They called us a shipment and inventory," Luke stated, his gaze unblinking.
"Don't you dare!" Adam exploded, his loyalty to the only authority figure he had ever known flaring up. "You don't talk about Mother Camel like that! She takes care of us! She found us homes! She's been looking after us since we were babies!"
Luke waited until Adam's outburst faded, then spoke calmly, his tone devoid of judgment but heavy with cold logic. "Think, Adam. Truly think. How many children have been 'adopted' in the last year?"
Adam hesitated, his anger stalling. "Lots... I don't know. Maybe twenty?"
"Closer to thirty. Name one," Luke pressed, stepping closer. "Name one child who was adopted and then wrote back. Name one child whose new parents sent a letter saying they arrived safely. Name one of the older kids—like Sam or Lisa—who were so happy to leave. Did they ever send a single message?"
Adam's expression crumbled. He opened his mouth to protest, but the words died. He had always accepted Mother Camel's easy excuses: The mail system here is slow. They're too busy in their new lives. But Luke's simple, undeniable question cracked the foundation of his comforting belief. The truth, stark and awful, began to dawn. They never heard from anyone. Ever.
"The couple in the hall," Luke continued, pressing the advantage. "They didn't look at us with love, Adam. They looked at us like livestock. They spoke about receiving a total of fifteen 'batches.' They're not adopting us; they're buying us to take us somewhere to work, or worse."
Adam sank onto a nearby overturned crate, his shoulders shaking. "But... but where would we go?"
"Anywhere but here. Anywhere that isn't their ship tonight," Luke confirmed, feeling a profound relief that his logic had successfully broken through Adam's conditioning. "We have to disappear before they come back for their 'shipment.' We escape at dusk."
Their plan, birthed from the minds of two seven-year-olds, had to be simple, silent, and rely on the orphanage's own neglect.
Phase I: Surveillance and Supply (1:00 PM - 5:00 PM)
Luke instructed Adam to monitor Mother Camel's movements. Her routine was rigid: paperwork in the main hall until 5:00 PM, followed by a light dinner alone. Luke, meanwhile, secured the supplies. Their inventory was meager: two half-eaten loaves of stale bread pilfered from the kitchen pantry, and a small canvas sack Luke had found tucked under a broken bed.
Phase II: The Distraction (6:00 PM)
Their only reliable exit was a small, rusted service door in the back boiler room, which was always locked from the outside by a simple, heavy bolt. Luke remembered that the laundry woman used to leave a basket of soiled clothes near the door right before her shift ended. Their distraction focused on the front gate—the one place Mother Camel would check instinctively if alerted. Adam, using a carefully aimed rock, was to strike the small, ornamental bell near the main entrance precisely at 6:05 PM, when Mother Camel would be transitioning to the dining area.
Phase III: The Bolt and the Crawl (6:07 PM - Sunset)
Luke, the faster and smaller of the two, would use the two precious minutes of diversion to reach the boiler room. The bolt was too high for him to reach, but the door was damaged. The wood around the lock was soft and rotted. Luke's tool: a rusty metal spoon he had sharpened slightly by scraping it on the boiler room's concrete floor. He would wedge the spoon under the bolt and pry it upward just enough to slip the bolt out of its groove.
As the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in violent shades of orange and bruised purple, the tension in the orphanage was suffocating.
At 6:05 PM, a small clang! echoed faintly from the front of the building. It was a pathetic sound, but enough.
Luke, already positioned in the dim, humid boiler room, moved. He could hear Mother Camel's irritated footsteps marching toward the front to investigate the noise. He reached the old service door. He inserted the spoon under the heavy, rusted bolt. He pulled, grunting with effort. The thin metal of the spoon bent slightly, but the rotted wood gave way, and with a terrible, dragging screeeech, the bolt was yanked free.
The moment the bolt was clear, Adam slipped in, pale and trembling but ready. Luke threw the door open just enough to squeeze through. They tumbled out into the overgrown, neglected back alley. The air here was fresh and cool, carrying the salty tang of the distant sea—the promise of freedom.
They didn't waste a second. Clutching the sack of bread, they ran—two small figures with bright orange and brown hair—bolting down the uneven alleyway, propelled by adrenaline and the sheer, terrifying knowledge of what awaited them if they stayed.
Luke looked back just once: the orphanage, dark and silent against the twilight sky, already felt like a nightmare dissolving into the rapidly approaching night. Their journey in the Grand Line had just begun.