The year was 2009, back when the economy was still limping from the recession, and side gigs like mine kept people’s heads just above water. I was one of those couriers who drove around transporting weird and random shipments that I wasn’t supposed to ask questions about. No questions, no trouble, right? That’s how I got this job.

So one Wednesday, my boss hits me up with an assignment I hadn’t seen before: take these pizza boxes, he says, shoving a bunch of suspiciously warm cardboard containers into my van, deliver them to this address. He hands me a piece of paper, and my heart skips a beat when I read it. It’s this gigantic mansion on the outskirts of the city, the kind that’s got more rumors swirling around it than celebrities have scandals. And this one belonged to Diddy, or at least that’s what the chatter was back then. Some dude with an empire, connections everywhere, and a reputation that made even the richest guys feel nervous.

I chuck the boxes in the back and do a quick mental check. This gig, it’s paying double. Double usually means extra shady, but man, times were tough, and I had to eat, you know? I jump into my van, crack a Monster energy drink, and set off. The address was miles from anywhere familiar, winding through the kinds of roads that get darker the further you drive. Not another soul in sight, just me, the van, and this growing feeling that I shouldn’t be doing this.

By the time I pull up to the mansion’s gates, the sky is a faded slate gray, the sun dipping behind a wall of trees so thick they looked like they’d swallow anyone who wandered in. The gates were massive, and they opened smooth, smooth, like they’ve been expecting me. My gut clenched. Fancy-ass security. The mansion loomed at the end of a stone driveway, lights barely flickering in the windows. I parked the van, grabbed the stack of boxes, and headed up the steps. I rang the bell, and before I could even set the boxes down, some tall, silent dude in a black suit swung open the door. No smile, no greeting, just a nod to follow him. So I did.

That’s when things started to get weird. I’m talking rooms that stretched out like museum halls, art pieces that could have cost more than my apartment, and this smell, this cloying floral scent that made my head buzz. He led me down a hallway, then through another until he finally stopped by some kitchen. “Leave them here,” he said, his voice as monotone as a dead line. I dropped the boxes and turned to leave, but my eyes caught something as he left: a slightly open door, almost hidden in the shadows. It was curiosity or stupidity, but my feet moved before my brain could argue. I drifted closer, pushing it open a bit more.

What I found was a staircase leading down, barely lit, like some secret wine seller, only it wasn’t wine I’d find. My heart started to race, adrenaline kicking in like it does when you know you’re stepping over a line, the kind of line that once crossed could ruin you. But I couldn’t help myself. I crept down each step, creaking under my weight, and then the basement unfolded like something out of a nightmare: tunnels, dark, endless tunnels carved out of concrete, winding into God knows where. There were rooms off each corridor, doors either half open or bolted shut. The first one I peeked into had shelves lined with toys, not the kid kind, the kind that adults with deep, twisted appetites might use: bondage gear, whips, chains, things I couldn’t even name. My stomach turned, but I pressed on, feeling the pull of something worse waiting ahead.

I was halfway through another tunnel when I tripped, nearly dropping my delivery boxes. They crashed to the floor, and that’s when it happened. One of the boxes cracked open, and out spilled these old DVDs and cassettes. No pizza, no cheese, just stacks of footage, all unmarked, all mysterious. I picked one up, hand shaking, and shoved it back in the box, but before I could gather everything, I heard voices, footsteps, heavy ones. People were coming.

I dragged the boxes back into a shadowed alcove and crouched down, heart pounding in my ears. The footsteps were getting closer, echoing off the cold stone walls. My breathing was loud, too loud. I tried to hold it, but fear does something wild to your body. They passed me, and I caught a glimpse: three men, one in a suit like the guy who’d let me in, and the other two were dragging a man between them. He was tied to a chair, head lolling, his face covered in bruises. They shoved him into a room nearby, and then the sound started: sharp, loud cracks like wood against bone. A man’s voice, thick with panic and pain, pleaded and cracked with sobs. It was like a brutal interrogation or some twisted punishment.

I stumbled backward, making a noise that was way too loud, and my cover was almost blown. I managed to hide behind a stack of old crates just as one of the suits stepped out to investigate. He was tall, bald, with eyes like knives that could cut through any lies. He sniffed the air like a predator sensing fear before disappearing back inside. I didn’t wait to see what would happen next. I grabbed what I could, hauled myself up the stairs two steps at a time, and burst through the door. That same suited guy from earlier was there, looking at me with a raised eyebrow.

“Lost,” he asked, voice flat. I stammered some half-baked excuse about needing the bathroom, but he just nodded like he knew I’d been somewhere I shouldn’t have. I got out of there, shoving the boxes into the van and peeling out of the driveway so fast my tires screamed. But the image of those rooms, those tapes, and that man’s beaten face, it never left me.

I drove through the maze of trees, my grip so tight on the steering wheel that my knuckles turned bone white. My heart hadn’t calmed down; it was still hammering in my chest, and my mind spun with all the awful [ __ ] I’d just seen. I had no clue what I’d stumbled into, but my gut told me it was dangerous, very dangerous. There were things in that mansion no one was supposed to know about, and I had no idea how I was going to shake off what I’d seen.

The sun had set completely by the time I found my way back onto a familiar highway. I’d gone maybe 5 or 6 miles when my phone rang, making me jump so hard that I nearly swerved into the next lane. The screen flashed with my boss’s name. Of course, he’d call now of all times. I took a deep breath, tried to steady my voice, and picked up.

“Yeah, you delivered it,” his voice was calm, way too calm. But that was him, always so even, so unbothered. It used to be reassuring; now it felt menacing.

“Yeah, I croaked,” my throat felt like sandpaper. “Dropped it off like you said. There was a pause, just a few seconds, but it felt like a lifetime.

“You sure about that?” The air felt heavy, and I swallowed hard.

“Yeah, I’m sure. I mean, I dropped the boxes off and… and… and got out. That’s what you told me to do, right?”

Another silence, this one stretched out longer, and I could hear my own heartbeat in my ears.

“Okay,” he finally said. “Good, make sure you get home safe.” The line clicked off before I could respond. My hands were trembling now, and I had to pull over onto the shoulder to catch my breath. Something was off. My boss never called to check on me after a delivery, never cared whether I got home safe or not. I couldn’t shake the feeling that he knew more than he let on.

I sat there for a few minutes, watching the cars’ wispy headlights blurring together. The van was still packed with those pizza boxes, the ones with the DVDs and cassettes. My mind raced. Should I dump them, burn them, take them to the cops? But the more I thought about it, the clearer it became. If these belonged to people with enough power to run an operation like what I’d seen in that mansion, then the cops wouldn’t be much help. I decided to keep driving, get home, think things through, and figure out my next move.

But when I pulled into the lot outside my apartment, something felt wrong. There was a car parked across the street, one I didn’t recognize, and it had that idle, lurking vibe. My heart did that panicked leap again. Maybe I was being paranoid, or maybe I’d been followed. I grabbed the boxes, hauled them inside as quickly as I could, and deadbolted the door. My place was small, a studio apartment in a rundown building where the elevator barely worked and the neighbors shouted at each other through the walls. But it was home, and right now it felt like the only place I had.

I stacked the boxes on my old, dented coffee table, staring at them like they were about to explode. The cassettes and DVDs were still spilled out from the one that had cracked open. They looked so ordinary, so deceptively harmless, but I knew they weren’t, not with what I’d seen in that basement. Taking a deep breath, I picked up one of the DVDs and shoved it into my ancient secondhand player. The screen flickered to life, and what came next made my stomach twist.

It was footage, grainy and shaky, of a room much like the one I’d seen in the mansion. Only this time, the room was occupied. A man sat there, tied to a chair, just like the one I’d seen being dragged earlier. Two men stood over him, their faces obscured by shadows, and they were asking questions in low, guttural voices. I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but it didn’t matter. The message was clear: whoever this man was, he wasn’t leaving that room unharmed.

I stopped, feeling bile rise in my throat. My hands were cold, my skin prickling with a cold sweat. I didn’t need to watch the rest to know that this was bad, really really bad. These weren’t just random tapes; they were evidence of something criminal, something brutal, something I should never have stumbled across. There was a loud bang from outside, and I jumped, my heart leaping into my throat. Just someone’s car backfiring, I told myself. But my nerves were shot, and I couldn’t calm down.

I paced my apartment, my mind spinning. If I called the cops, I’d be putting a target on my back. If I tried to get rid of the tapes, there was no guarantee that someone wouldn’t come looking for them and for me. The image of that beaten man flashed in my mind, and I shivered. These people played rough, and I had a feeling they didn’t leave loose ends.

A knock on the door made me freeze. It was soft but insistent. I crept over, barely breathing, and peeked through the peephole. A woman stood there, dressed casually in jeans and a leather jacket, her face calm but her eyes sharp. I didn’t recognize her, and that made me even more nervous.

“Who is it?” I called out, trying to sound braver than I felt.

“Just want to talk,” she said, her voice smooth and calm. “You’ve got something that doesn’t belong to you.” My stomach dropped. They’d found me. I backed away from the door, my mind scrambling for a plan. She knocked again, a little louder this time.

“Open up, or this gets messy,” she warned. I had no weapons, no way to defend myself. The tapes and DVDs were still spread out on the table, glaring at me like evidence of my stupidity. I needed to think and fast, but then, before I could come up with a plan, my phone buzzed. A text from a number I didn’t recognize: “Get out back exit now.”

My blood went cold. Was this another trap or a lifeline? Either way, I didn’t have time to debate. The woman outside was starting to lose her patience, and the sound of footsteps behind her told me she wasn’t alone. I grabbed the tapes, shoving them back into one of the boxes, and bolted for the back exit. My legs felt like jelly, but adrenaline kept me moving. I burst out the back door into the alley, expecting someone to jump out at me, but it was empty, at least for the moment.

The text buzzed again: “Left, then two blocks down. Get in the car.” I didn’t know who was helping me or why, but I was too desperate to question it. I sprinted down the alley, my breath coming in ragged gasps, and made the left turn. Two blocks felt like miles, but then I saw it: a beat-up old sedan with tinted windows, engine running. The driver’s side window rolled down, and a man leaned out, his face partially hidden under a baseball cap.

“Get in,” he hissed. I hesitated, but the sound of shouting from the alley spurred me into action. I jumped into the car, slamming the door shut, and the man floored it. The tires screeched as we took off, leaving the mansion’s goons and whatever nightmare I’d stumbled into behind, for now.

The car sped through the maze of narrow city streets, the engine roaring like a caged animal. I pressed myself back into the seat, heart still jackhammering in my chest. The man driving kept his eyes fixed on the road, his jaw clenched. I tried to get a better look at him, but the shadows played tricks in the dim light. All I could make out was the rough outline of his face, weathered and sharp.

“Who the hell are you?” I finally managed to blurt out, my voice cracking. He didn’t look at me, just kept driving.

“Friend,” he said. “For now.” That didn’t exactly calm me.

“How do you know I needed help?” He glanced at me briefly, his eyes dark and unreadable.

“Been watching that place for a while,” he replied. “You made a hell of a mistake stumbling in there, didn’t you?”

I swallowed hard, my mouth dry. “I was just making a delivery. Nobody told me it was going to be…” I trailed off, not even sure how to describe what I’d seen. “Torture rooms, hidden tunnels, things people shouldn’t have to witness. Whatever that was,” I finished lamely.

The man gave a humorless chuckle. “That’s the kind of place you don’t come out of if you’re not careful,” he said. “You’re lucky. Most people who see what you did end up buried in a field somewhere.”

My hands were still shaking, and I tried to make sense of it all. “What do they do there?” I asked, even though part of me didn’t want to know. He hesitated, like he was debating how much to tell me.

“Illegal [ __ ],” he finally said. “Stuff that would make your skin crawl. People go in, and they don’t come out. And those tapes you’ve got, they’re evidence. The kind that could bring down some very powerful people.”

I stared at the box of DVDs and cassettes in my lap, the weight of what I discovered sinking in. “I didn’t mean to get involved,” I said, my voice cracking. “I’m just a damn courier. I don’t know anything about… I don’t know anything about this kind of [ __ ].”

He shot me another look, this one almost pitying. “Doesn’t matter now,” he said. “You’re involved, whether you like it or not. The second you saw that stuff, you became a liability.”

The car finally slowed, and he pulled into a deserted parking lot behind an old boarded-up diner. He killed the engine, and silence fell over us like a heavy blanket. I was still gripping the box like a lifeline, my fingers numb. The man turned to face me fully for the first time, and I could see the exhaustion etched into his face, the worry lines that looked like they’d been carved there over a lifetime.

“Listen,” he said, voice low and serious. “You’ve got two choices. One, you can try to run, but they’ll find you. These people have resources, and they don’t forget. Or two, you can work with me, and maybe, just maybe, we can expose this and get you out alive.”

“Expose this?” I echoed, my voice incredulous. “How the hell are we supposed to do that?”

He reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a battered folder. “I’ve been building a case for a long time,” he said, flipping it open to reveal photos, handwritten notes, and names I didn’t recognize. “But I’m missing pieces, pieces that those tapes might hold.”

The thought of being part of something like this made my stomach churn, but the other option—being hunted for the rest of my life or worse—wasn’t any better. “Do you care?” I asked. “Why risk yourself for this?”

His jaw tightened. “Let’s just say I have unfinished business with the people in that mansion,” he said, his voice strained. “They took someone from me, someone I loved.”

I felt a pang of guilt, realizing that for him, this wasn’t just some random crusade; it was personal. And now, somehow, I’d been dragged into it. Before I could respond, headlights swept over the parking lot, and the man’s whole demeanor changed. He went stiff, his hand inching towards something tucked in his jacket. I turned to see a black SUV rolling slowly into the lot, the engine purring like a predator stalking prey.

“[ __ ],” he muttered. “Stay down.” He threw the car into reverse, the tires squealing as we shot backward, narrowly avoiding the SUV as it sped forward. Gunshots cracked through the air, and I ducked, covering my head as glass shattered around me.

“They found us!” I shouted, as if he needed a reminder.

“Yeah, no kidding,” he growled, yanking the wheel to make a sharp turn down an alley. The van skidded, and I slammed into the door, clutching the box of tapes. The SUV was relentless, its headlights glaring in the rearview mirror. We tore through the city, the SUV keeping pace, and I realized that this wasn’t just a warning; they were out for blood.

The man beside me fumbled with his phone, barking something into it. My only focus was on surviving the next few minutes. The chase felt like it went on forever, every second a new nightmare. We weaved through traffic, narrowly avoiding collisions, and my brain was a white-hot mess of fear and adrenaline. Finally, he pulled another wild turn, and the SUV couldn’t keep up. It skidded out, tires screeching, and we disappeared down a side street out of sight.

He didn’t stop until we were miles away, parked under a crumbling overpass where the streetlights barely worked. He cut the engine, breathing hard, and we sat in stunned silence.

“Welcome to the fight,” he said grimly, wiping blood from a gash on his forehead where shattered glass had nicked him. “It only gets worse from here.”

I couldn’t speak, could barely think. All I knew was that my life was never going to be the same. I sat there, breathing heavily, my mind a whirlwind of panic and disbelief. The shattered glass lay in glittering shards all over the dashboard, in my lap, cutting tiny stinging lines into my hands and arms. I was still clutching the box like a damn security blanket, unable to let it go. The man beside me, the guy who just saved my life, was hunched over the wheel, catching his breath. Blood dripped slowly from the cut on his forehead, but he didn’t seem to notice or care.

He straightened up, wiped the sweat from his face, and looked over at me with that same intense, dark gaze. “Give me the tapes,” he said.

I flinched, clutching the box tighter. “Why?” My voice came out thin, desperate.

“Because,” he said, his voice steady, “if they find us with those tapes, we’re dead. But if we hide them, we might have a chance.”

He made it sound so simple, but I could hear the tension in his voice, the way his fingers twitched, ready for whatever was coming next. I should have trusted him; hell, he just pulled me out of a gunfight, and he clearly knew more about this nightmare than I did. But something inside me balked at handing over the only proof I had that this was all real, that I wasn’t losing my mind.

I hesitated, my thoughts spinning in every direction. “Where do we even hide them?” I asked, my voice cracking.

He let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair. “I know a place,” he said. “Safe house, a couple miles from here. We’ll stash the tapes there, regroup, and figure out our next move.”

I glanced out the window, half expecting another SUV to come barreling out of the darkness. “How do I know I can trust you?”

His jaw clenched. “You don’t,” he said, his voice harsh. “But right now, you don’t have a lot of options, do you?”

He was right, of course. I was out of my depth, completely unprepared for this. But as much as I wanted to trust him, there was still that tiny seed of doubt. For all I knew, he was leading me straight into another trap. But what choice did I have? I nodded, my throat tight. “Fine,” I whispered, loosening my grip on the box. “But if you screw me over, I swear…”

He cracked a humorless smile. “You’ll have to get in line,” he said. “Let’s move.”

We both got out of the car, the cool night air biting at my skin. I could hear distant sirens, the city’s usual chaos humming in the background, but it all felt far away. We were in our own bubble of danger and fear, and I had no idea how we’d get out of it. A man led the way, keeping to the shadows as we moved, the box of tapes tucked under his arm. I followed close behind, my legs shaky, my heart still thundering in my chest. The overpass loomed above us, casting jagged shadows that seemed to close in around us, but he moved like he knew exactly where he was going.

We walked for what felt like forever, every sound making me flinch, until we reached an old warehouse that looked like it hadn’t been used in decades. The windows were broken, and the walls were covered in graffiti. He led me around to a side door, jiggled the handle, and it swung open with a groan of rusty hinges.

“Welcome to the safe house,” he said dryly, stepping inside. I followed him in, my shoes crunching on broken glass. The place smelled like dust and oil, and the only light came from a couple of flickering bulbs hanging from the ceiling. There were crates stacked against the walls, a few ratty couches, and a table covered in maps and papers. The man set the box down on the table and turned to me.

“We’re not out of the woods yet,” he said. “They’ll be looking for us, but we’ve got a little time.”

I felt like I was in a daze, like none of this was real. “Who are you?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. “And how do you know so much about these people?”

He rubbed a hand over his face, looking suddenly tired, like the weight of everything was pressing down on him. “Call me Marcus,” he said. “I used to work for them, not directly, but close enough. I saw things I couldn’t unsee, tried to get out, but you don’t just walk away from people like that.”

My stomach twisted. “So why are you helping me?”

His eyes darkened, and he glanced at the box of tapes. “Because,” he said, his voice low, “I’m tired of running, tired of being scared. And maybe, with what you found, we can finally put an end to this.”

I wanted to believe him, but the fear still gnawed at my insides. “And what happens if we don’t?” I asked.

He looked at me, his expression grim. “Then we die,” he said. “Or worse.”

The words hung heavy in the air, and I knew he wasn’t exaggerating. Whatever I’d stumbled into was bigger than me, bigger than either of us, and there was no going back. Suddenly, the door to the warehouse creaked, and both of us froze. Marcus grabbed a gun from the table, his body tense, and I felt my heart stop. Footsteps echoed through the dark, and I realized with sickening dread that our time had just run out.

The footsteps echoed closer, deliberate and heavy, the sound of boots crunching on the scattered debris of the warehouse floor. Marcus didn’t move a muscle, his gun aimed steadily at the shadows near the entrance. I held my breath, my entire body tensed, waiting for the inevitable.

A man emerged from the darkness, tall and broad with a shaved head and a face that looked like it had been carved out of stone. He wore a black tactical jacket, and his eyes were as cold as a winter morning. Behind him, two more figures stepped into view, each one armed and looking ready for a fight. Marcus didn’t lower his gun.

One wrong move and this gets ugly,” the man with the shaved head smirked. “You think you’re in a position to make demands?” he said, his voice smooth, almost amused. “You’re outnumbered, Marcus, and we both know you’re not getting out of this alive.”

My mouth went dry. They knew his name, which meant they probably knew mine too. I wanted to run, to hide, but my legs felt like they were made of lead. Marcus’s finger tightened on the trigger, and I could see the muscles in his jaw clenching.

“You should have stayed out of this, Lin,” he said, addressing the man by name. “This isn’t your fight anymore.”

Lin’s smile widened. “Oh, but it is,” he said. “You see, you’ve made it personal, and now you’ve dragged this poor kid into your mess.” He gestured at me, and I flinched, feeling the weight of their attention settle on my shoulders.

Marcus didn’t waver. “Let him go,” he demanded. “He doesn’t know anything. He’s just a courier who got mixed up in this by accident.”

Lin tilted his head, pretending to consider it. “That’s the problem,” he said. “Accidents have consequences, and we can’t have any loose ends running around, can we?”

My heart pounded in my chest so loud I was sure they could hear it. Marcus glanced at me, his expression hard but somehow reassuring, like he was trying to tell me he had a plan. But I couldn’t see any way out of this that didn’t end with both of us dead. Lin raised a hand, and the two men behind him took a step forward, their guns pointed at us.

“Last chance, Marcus,” he said. “Hand over the tapes, and maybe I’ll make this quick.”

Marcus’s grip on his gun didn’t falter, but his eyes flicked to me, and I saw the conflict there. He was trying to protect me, but he knew we were cornered. My mind raced, searching for anything, any way to buy us some time, and then I remembered the tapes, the proof.

“What’s on these?” I said, my voice rising with desperation. “If you kill us, you’ll never find out.”

Lin’s smile faltered just for a second, and I felt a flicker of hope. He didn’t know what was on the tapes, which meant we still had leverage. But before he could respond, Marcus moved. He grabbed my arm and yanked me backward, shoving me behind him as he fired his gun. The shot echoed through the warehouse, and chaos erupted. The men behind Lin dove for cover, and Marcus dragged me toward a stack of crates, using them as a shield. Bullets tore through the air, and I stumbled, clutching the box of tapes to my chest like it was the only thing keeping me alive.

“Stay down,” Marcus shouted, firing off another round. “Don’t move.”

I dropped to the floor, my heart in my throat, and tried to make myself as small as possible.

You freaking me out in the cabin, mate. Saw something that cracked me up so much, I was scared to death. You could only imagine. My hands were trembling so much. A detonator! I cover your ears,” he yelled, and I barely had time to obey before he pressed the button. The explosion was blinding, a flash of light and heat that rocked the entire warehouse. The crates around us splintered, and I felt the shock wave slam into my chest, knocking the breath out of me. I curled into a ball, the box still clutched in my hands, as debris rained down around us.

When the noise finally subsided, there was a ringing in my ears, and everything felt muted and surreal. Marcus pulled me to my feet, his grip iron-tight.

“Move,” he shouted, and I stumbled after him, my legs weak and unsteady. We made a break for the back of the warehouse, where a door hung open, leading into the night. The air was thick with dust and smoke, and my lungs burned with every breath, but I couldn’t stop. We had to keep moving.

We burst out into the alley, the cool air a shock to my system, and Marcus didn’t let go of my arm. We ran, our footsteps echoing off the brick walls, and I tried not to think about the men we’d left behind, about how they’d come after us, about how they wouldn’t stop until we were dead. Marcus finally pulled me into a side street, and we ducked into the shadows, gasping for breath. He looked at me, his face grim but determined.

“We’re not safe yet,” he said, his voice low. “But we’ve got one thing going for us.”

I swallowed, my throat raw. “What’s that?”

He glanced at the box of tapes, then back at me. “We’ve still got the proof,” he said. “And as long as we have it, we have a chance.”

I nodded, even though my body was trembling with exhaustion and fear. We were far from safe, and the nightmare was far from over, but for the first time, I felt a spark of something I hadn’t felt since this whole thing started: hope. Marcus didn’t waste a second. He pulled me back into motion, guiding us through the maze of alleys and back streets like he knew them by heart. My legs were jelly, my lungs aching from the run and the dust, but adrenaline kept me upright and kept me following him. The box of tapes felt heavier with every step, the weight of the evidence inside pressing down on me like a physical burden.

“Where the hell are we going?” I managed to gasp out, struggling to keep up with Marcus’s relentless pace. He didn’t look back.

“Somewhere they won’t find us,” he said. “At least not right away.”

We cut through a narrow passageway between two buildings, squeezing past dumpsters and discarded junk. The city loomed around us, an indifferent witness to our escape, its neon lights flickering like dying stars. We emerged onto a quiet street lined with rundown shops and boarded-up windows. Marcus finally slowed, checking over his shoulder before ducking into a small, decrepit pawn shop. The bell above the door jangled, sounding almost cheerful despite the grim circumstances.

The inside of the shop was cluttered, shelves packed with old radios, dusty guitars, and stacks of forgotten vinyl records. An old man sat behind the counter, flipping through a newspaper, and he looked up with a frown as we entered.

“Marcus,” the old man said, his voice gravelly. “You’re bringing trouble, aren’t you?”

Marcus nodded, not even trying to deny it. “Sorry, Al. We just need a place to lay low for a bit.”

Al sighed, setting the newspaper down. “You always were a pain in the ass,” he muttered. But he didn’t argue. Instead, he reached under the counter and pressed something, a hidden button maybe. A section of the wall at the back of the shop swung open, revealing a narrow staircase leading downward.

“Go on,” Al said. But don’t make it a habit.”

Marcus didn’t hesitate, and I followed him down the stairs, my legs feeling like they could give out at any moment. The hidden basement was small and cramped, lit by a single bare bulb that cast long, flickering shadows. There were old crates stacked in one corner and a folding table covered in maps and blueprints. Marcus shut the door behind us, sealing us in, and for a moment, the silence was almost overwhelming.

I sank onto one of the crates, my hand shaking as I set the box of tapes down beside me. “Are we safe?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

Marcus leaned against the wall, wiping the sweat from his brow. “For now,” he said. “But they’ll keep looking. They won’t stop until they get what they want.”

I rubbed my face, trying to wrap my head around everything that had happened. It felt like a bad dream, one I couldn’t wake up from. “Why did you even help me?” I asked, my voice cracking. “You could have just walked away.”

Marcus’s expression softened just for a moment. “Because I’ve been running from these bastards for too long,” he said. “And because maybe it’s time someone fought back.” He looked at the box, a shadow passing over his face. “Those tapes could bring them down,” he said. “Expose everything. But we’ll need to be smart about it. We need allies, people who can protect us and make sure the evidence doesn’t disappear.”

I swallowed hard. “And if we can’t find anyone?”

Marcus’s jaw tightened. “Then we keep running,” he said. “Or we go down fighting.”

The thought made my stomach twist, but I couldn’t deny the truth of it. There was no easy way out of this, no happy ending waiting around the corner. We were in too deep, and the only way out was to see it through. Marcus moved to the table, studying one of the blueprints spread out there.

“We have a few hours, maybe less, before they figure out where we went,” he said. “Get some rest while you can.”

Rest. The idea seemed ridiculous, but I knew he was right. My body was running on fumes, and every muscle ached from the stress and the fear. I curled up on the crate, using the box as a makeshift pillow, and tried to close my eyes. But sleep didn’t come easily. Every time I drifted off, I saw Lin’s cold smile, the flash of gunfire, the faces of the men who were still out there hunting us. The basement felt suffocating, the shadows pressing in, and I wondered if we’d ever make it out alive.

Eventually, exhaustion pulled me into a restless, fitful sleep, but even in my dreams, there was no escape from the nightmare we’d stumbled into. I woke with a start, my heart pounding in my chest. For a moment, I didn’t know where I was, disoriented by the darkness of the basement and the faint, musty smell that filled the air. But then it all came rushing back: the tapes, the gunfire, the men hunting us. Marcus was still at the table, the glow from a small lamp casting deep shadows on his face as he pored over the maps and notes spread out in front of him. He glanced at me when he noticed I was awake.

“Feel any better?” he asked, his voice low.

I sat up, my muscles stiff from sleeping on the hard crate. “Not really,” I admitted. “But I guess it doesn’t matter, does it?”

Marcus didn’t respond, but the look on his face told me everything I needed to know. He looked exhausted, lines of worry etched deep into his features. This was a man who had been running and fighting for a long time, and I realized just how far out of my depth I was. But I couldn’t turn back now, not with what I’d seen, not with what I knew. And before I could say anything else, there was a sound, a faint scrape like metal against concrete. Marcus tensed, his hand reaching for the gun he’d set on the table. I held my breath, straining to hear, and my stomach dropped when the noise came again, louder this time. Someone was outside the basement door.

Marcus motioned for me to stay quiet, and he moved to stand just to the side of the hidden entrance, gun at the ready. The seconds ticked by, each one feeling like an eternity. My palms were slick with sweat, and I gripped the edge of the crate, my knuckles white. Then, with a loud crash, the door burst open, and men in tactical gear poured into the room, their weapons raised. I barely had time to process what was happening before they were on us, shouting orders, forcing me to the ground with my hands behind my head. Marcus didn’t stand a chance. He was disarmed and pinned down in seconds, a knee pressed into his back.

“Stay down,” one of the men barked, and I did as I was told, too terrified to move. The room filled with noise: the shouts of the men, the heavy boots stomping across the floor, the clatter of equipment. They tore through the basement, upending crates, scattering papers, searching for the tapes. One of them grabbed the box from where I’d left it, ripping it open to reveal the cassettes and discs inside.

“Got it,” he called out, and I felt a cold dread settle in my gut. They had what they wanted. We were finished. Lin stepped into the room, his presence like a shadow that darkened everything around him. He looked down at me, his expression smug, and I knew he was enjoying this moment.

“You really thought you could outsmart us,” he said, shaking his head. “That was a mistake.”

I wanted to run, to hide, but my legs felt like they were made of lead. Marcus struggled against the men holding him, but it was no use.

“You can’t cover this up forever,” he spat. “The truth will come out.”

Lin’s smile didn’t waver. “Maybe,” he said. “But not today.” He turned to his men. “Get them out of here.”

We were hauled to our feet, my wrists bound with zip ties that cut into my skin. They marched us out of the basement and into the cold night air. A black SUV was waiting, its engine idling, and I was shoved into the back seat beside Marcus. The doors slammed shut, and I felt the car lurch forward, taking us who knew where. I tried to catch Marcus’s eye, but he was staring straight ahead, his jaw clenched. I wanted to say something, anything to break the silence, but no words came. We were trapped, and there was nothing we could do.

The ride seemed to stretch on forever, the city lights blurring past the tinted windows. Finally, the SUV pulled into an underground garage, and we were dragged out, forced into a stark, windowless room. Lin stood in the doorway, watching as we were shoved into chairs and secured, our hands still bound.

“Here’s how this is going to work,” he said, his voice cold and measured. “You’re going to tell me everything you know: every copy of those tapes, every person you’ve spoken to about them. And if you cooperate, maybe you’ll get out of this alive.”

I didn’t say anything. Fear and defiance warred inside me, but I knew I couldn’t give them what they wanted. Marcus was right: the truth mattered, even if it cost us everything. Lin sighed, straightening up.

“Have it your way,” he said. He nodded to one of his men, who stepped forward, his hand curling into a fist. The next thing I knew, pain exploded across my jaw, and the room spun. I tasted blood, and my vision blurred, but I didn’t break, not then, not when the questions came, not when the threats escalated. I clung to the hope that somewhere, somehow, the truth would survive, even if we didn’t.

The night dragged on, the shadows growing longer, and I lost track of time. But through the darkness, through the pain and fear, one thought kept me going: we had tried to make a difference, we had tried to fight, and maybe, just maybe, that would be enough.