CHAPTER 5
A damp, metallic scent filled Alicia's nostrils as she stirred awake, her limbs stiff and aching. Her head throbbed in time with her heartbeat. She was lying on a cold slab of a mattress—more like an old cot covered in grime—her arms twisted uncomfortably behind her, wrists bound with thick metal cord. Her ankles were tied, too, tightly, almost bruising. A small, flickering bulb swung from the ceiling, casting jagged shadows against concrete walls.
She didn't panic. She didn't scream. She blinked slowly, adjusting to the dark, calculating.
Where am I? What's the setup? Think first.
This wasn't just a random basement. The reinforced door, the harsh smell of industrial bleach, the distant hum of generators—it all screamed "planned facility." A child trafficking center, probably. Her stomach twisted, not with fear, but frustration.
Mary. Of course it had been Mary.
Alicia clenched her jaw, mind racing. That woman hadn't been placed at the orphanage randomly. The signs were all there—her detachment, her false warmth, her constant phone calls, her habit of choosing isolated or quiet kids to "run errands" with her. No one questioned it. It was an orphanage, after all—who cared about the forgotten?
She should have suspected it earlier. The world didn't offer kindness without a catch.
And now I'm the catch.
Her ears tuned in.
Soft crying from another room—multiple voices. Children. Other captives.
Alicia sighed slowly, not out of sympathy, but annoyance.
More obstacles.
Footsteps echoed from the hallway beyond her door—heavier ones, adult male. Two people, chatting idly.
"…The kid from today—put her in Holding, right?"
"Yeah, isolated. Boss said she's sharp. Wants her for Phase Two."
"What's that? Indoctrination?"
"Nah. Training."
Alicia's lips tightened. They weren't looking for ransom. They were looking for assets. The mafia didn't want kids—they wanted soldiers. Tools. And Alicia, with her unusually calm demeanor and clever tongue, had probably pinged on someone's radar.
It wasn't her Nen they were after—they didn't even know about it. That was her only edge.
She breathed in through her nose, and activated Ten.
Immediately, her aura coiled around her body like a thin shield—strengthening her presence, clearing her mind. Her nerves steadied. The ache in her muscles dulled. It was like putting on armor, invisible but real.
Next, Zetsu. She shut off her aura flow completely, suppressing her presence to zero. If anyone was trained in Nen around here—and that was a possibility—they wouldn't detect her at all.
Now think. What would an idiot do? Cry? Scream? Bang on the walls?
She didn't have time to waste. She wriggled her ankles, testing the cable. Tied in haste, sloppily. Probably done by some underpaid grunt who thought a kid wouldn't be a problem. Alicia smirked faintly.
That's your first mistake.
She scooted her legs toward the edge of the metal cot, inch by inch, and began rubbing the binding against the jagged metal bracket underneath it. Back and forth. The metal cut into her skin, but she didn't stop. Pain was fuel. Pain meant progress.
Time passed. Ten minutes. Maybe twenty.
And finally the cable snapped.
She didn't move yet. Not even to sit up. She slid back into Zetsu, closed her eyes, and listened.
The hallway was quiet again.
She rotated onto her stomach, slid to the floor, and crawled on her elbows toward the door. A sliver of hallway light bled through the bottom. No shadows—no one directly outside.
You'll only get one shot.
She stood up slowly, pressing herself against the wall beside the door, and shifted into Ren—pushing her aura outward, making it flare like a beacon. Not for long. Just enough to ping.
Seconds later, footsteps pounded the hallway.
She dropped Ren instantly, back into Zetsu, and waited, hidden behind the door.
The handle turned. The door creaked open.
A tall man stepped in, flashlight drawn, confusion on his face. "Hey, what the hell—"
He never finished the sentence.
Alicia lunged with silent precision, low and fast. She slammed her shoulder into the back of his knee, sending him off balance. He crashed to the floor with a grunt, and before he could recover she slammed his head into the metallic door .
With a bang , he was left unconscious.
She knelt beside him, searching his pockets. Keys. Security card. Taser.
"Jackpot" she smirked , the adrenaline flowing in her veins as she slipped out into the hallway.
It was worse than she imagined. Dimly lit, sterile, built like a cross between a lab and a prison. Lining the walls were thick doors with observation windows. Some rooms had children in them. Others… didn't.
She paused.
Through one narrow window, she saw a girl—barely ten—curled into herself on the floor, eyes swollen from crying.
Alicia's jaw clenched. Her hand hovered over the door's keypad.
I could open it.
But the thought passed.
She stepped back.
No. You'll make noise. You'll draw attention. You'll slow down. And for what?
There was no reward in playing hero. Not in this world. Those kids were already caught. Saving them would just get her recaptured. Or worse.
She moved on.
One corridor led to another, and then to a stairwell. Emergency lighting glowed red. A door marked "EXIT" loomed at the top. But as she ran up, a voice rang out behind her.
"Stop right there!"
She spun around and launched the taser.
The prongs missed.
She didn't wait to see what happened next—she slammed through the exit door and bolted.
Outside. Night air. Cold, real air.
She didn't stop running. Not through the woods. Not over the cracked hills. Not even when her legs begged for rest. Her survival was more important than comfort. Than anything.
Eventually, she collapsed at the edge of a stream, soaked with sweat and dirt, gasping. Her arms were cut and bruised. Her head spun.
But she was alive.
She stared at her reflection in the water—messy hair, blood on her cheek, wild eyes. But behind it all, that same calculating smirk.
She had escaped a trafficking ring.
And she didn't feel guilt for leaving the others behind.
Why would she?
If they were smart enough, they'd escape too. Just like I did.
She splashed water on her face and leaned back, watching the stars poke through the leaves above.
"I'll make it out, one way or another. Even if I have to step on a few corpses to do it."
She chuckled softly.
The mafia picked the wrong victim