The stench hit harder with every step.
Raven descended the basement stairs slowly, her boots creaking against the warped wood. The smell clung to the walls—thick and oily. It wasn't just rot. It was the rank scent of sweat, shame, old blood, and hopelessness. She'd smelled it before. Too many times.
In her past life, the Red Blood Raiders kept women in rooms just like this. For "fun." For trade. For experiments.
They always stank the same.
She reached the bottom, her eyes adjusting to the low light. The basement wasn't large, but every inch of it reeked of evil. Concrete floors smeared with mold stains. Old storage crates. A mattress shoved into the far corner—bare, yellowed, torn open at the seams, surrounded by empty water bottles and shredded clothes.
She didn't go near it.
Instead, she moved slowly, scanning the room. That's when she saw the steel door.
Heavy. Reinforced. Slightly ajar at the bottom, like it didn't quite close all the way. And behind it—
The sound of sobbing was heard.
Soft. Muffled. But unmistakable.
Raven's jaw tensed.
Her eyes shifted to the wall beside the door. Hanging from a bent nail was a plastic retractable lanyard. At the end of it, a faded keycard.
Office issue.
She plucked it off the wall, stepped to the reader, and swiped.
The lock buzzed.
The door clicked.
Raven tossed the card aside and pushed the door open.
Inside, dim light from a flickering bulb revealed a girl—early twenties, red hair tangled and matted, sitting on a cot with her wrists loosely tied in front of her. Her eyes were swollen, not from bruises, but from dehydration and fear. Her clothes were dirty but intact. A few small scrapes, but no blood.
They hadn't touched her yet.
Raven exhaled slowly, a breath of relief she didn't even realize she was holding was let go.
She lowered her gun slightly.
"You're safe now," she said. "The people upstairs have been dealt with. Come with me. I'll get you out of here."
The girl flinched, pulling back against the wall.
"You're not with them?" she asked, voice hoarse.
Raven's voice went flat, cold.
"Don't ask stupid questions. Do you want out or not? Follow me. Keep your mouth shut. No matter what you see or hear."
The girl blinked. Then nodded.
She stood shakily and followed Raven without another word.
Raven cut her hands free before climbing the steps.
They moved back up the stairs, Raven leading with her Beretta still in hand.
When they stepped back into the office, the girl gasped softly.
Neil was still there. Alive, but barely. Blood drenched his clothes. His legs and elbows twisted at unnatural angles. He lay motionless, too far gone to speak.
The red-haired girl looked away, saying nothing.
Raven stopped and turned to her.
"Wait outside," she said. "I need to finish things up here."
The girl hesitated, eyes flicking to the gun in Raven's hand.
But she nodded. Quickly. Quietly. Then stepped out into the cold outside.
Raven turned back towards the room.
She walked to Neil's desk. Keys sat in a ceramic dish beside a half-empty bottle of vodka and a rusted multitool. She picked the keys up, and slipped them into her pocket, and turned.
Neil stirred. His eyes fluttered open.
"You… bitch…" he rasped. "You won't… get away…"
She knelt beside him, gun leveled at his temple.
"Enjoy hell," she whispered. "Your brothers will follow you there soon."
Then she pulled the trigger.
A soft, silenced pop echoed. His head fell to the side. Blood spreading in a wide halo behind him.
She stood.
Without pause, she moved to the surveillance wall. Her hands worked methodically—ripping out cords, slamming her boot into the drives. She pulled the hard disks out of their housing and snapped them in half. The plastic cracked, metal warping in her grip.
No evidence.
No record.
No trail.
By the time anyone found Neil, it would be far too late to matter. Then Raven turned to deal with the red head outside and her fish, who are probably just as much victims as anyone else here.
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