Donald's heart sank as he watched them untie his sister and brother, dragging them toward the back exit. He tried to crawl after them, but his body refused to obey.
"L-leave them..." he choked out, his voice barely a whisper.
The leader glanced back at him, a sneer on his face. "Next time, don't pick a fight you can't win."
With that, they disappeared into the night, leaving the boy alone in the cold, empty warehouse.
Rain continued to pour through the broken roof, mingling with the blood that seeped from his wounds. He lay there for what felt like hours, his mind replaying the fight over and over.
Eventually, he forced himself to move, every inch of his body screaming in protest. He stumbled to his feet, his vision darkening at the edges. Somehow, he managed to stagger out of the warehouse and into the rain-soaked streets.
The sirens were closer now, but he couldn't risk being caught. If the police took him in, he'd lose any chance of saving his siblings.
Clutching his side, he limped into the shadows, disappearing into the night like a wounded animal.
His heart burned with guilt and anger, the weight of his failure pressing down on him like a crushing tide. But even as despair threatened to consume him, one thought kept him going.
"I'll find them. No matter what it takes, I'll find them. And I will kill all of you!"
****
The sound of his boots hitting the cold, hard ground echoed faintly in the silence of the abandoned facility. Lt. Callen Rourke, a seasoned special ops soldier, moved with precision, his rifle firmly in his grasp.
His night-vision goggles cast an eerie green glow over his field of view, painting the crumbling walls and debris-strewn floors in shades of shadowy green.
He crouched low behind a metal crate, his heart beating in a steady rhythm. The mission was simple on paper: extract a high-value target being held hostage deep within this isolated industrial complex.
But Callen knew better than to trust simplicity in the field. Things had a habit of going sideways, especially in places like this.
The comms in his earpiece crackled to life.
"Bravo One, status report," came the voice of his handler, steady and professional.
"Bravo One here," Callen whispered, his voice barely audible. "I'm inside. Approaching the designated sector. No hostiles spotted yet."
He grabbed the woman's arm, pulling her toward the door.
"Run!" he shouted, his voice cutting through the oppressive silence.
They barely made it out of the room when the explosion tore through the air, the force of the blast throwing them both to the ground. Callen's ears rang as he struggled to his feet, his vision swimming.
"Are you hurt?" he asked, shaking the woman's shoulder.
She coughed, her face pale.
"I... I'm okay."
Before he could respond, his earpiece crackled again, but this time, the voice was frantic.
"Bravo One, we've got multiple heat signatures converging on your location. You need to move, now!"
Callen cursed under his breath, pulling the woman to her feet. They stumbled through the corridors, the sound of approaching footsteps growing louder.
Suddenly, a burst of gunfire erupted behind them. Callen spun around, firing back as he shoved the woman behind cover.
"Stay down!" he ordered, his voice sharp.
The attackers came in waves, their dark silhouettes blending with shadow around him. Callen picked them off one by one, his movements as fast and as deadly, as possible. But they just kept coming, relentless in their assault.
A sharp pain tore through his side, and he staggered back, clutching his ribs. His gloved hand came away slick with blood.
"Damn it," he muttered, gritting his teeth.
He knew he couldn't keep this up much longer. His vision blurred, and his movements grew sluggish. But the thought of leaving the woman behind kept him going.
"Go!" he shouted, pushing her toward the exit. "Get out of here!"
"No!" she cried, tears streaming down her face.
"Just go!" he roared, his voice filled with desperation.
The woman hesitated, her expression torn, but she eventually turned and ran.