Prologue
It was a warm summer afternoon in Bogota, Colombia, and thirteen-year-old Elena Sanchez sat outside her rundown shack, trying to ignore the sounds of gunshots echoing through the alleyway. She couldn't help but close her eyes tightly whenever she heard footsteps approaching, praying silently that today wouldn't be another violent encounter between her mother and some John. Today marked eight years since her father had left them both behind, leaving them completely dependent on Miranda, her alcoholic prostitute mother, for survival. Elena despised living here—in this hellhole filled with crime and squalor—but what choice did she have? Besides, there wasn't much else waiting for someone like her back home...
Inside the dilapidated dwelling, Miranda (El's mom) lay sprawled out naked across the mattress, moaning softly as one customer after another took turns using her body. Her eyes were glazed over from drugs, unaware or indifferent towards the presence of her daughter hiding beneath the bed. Every thrust reverberated throughout the small room, causing discomfort for Elena who tried desperately not to move a muscle as she held her breath, praying for it to end quickly. The smell of alcohol mixed with sweat and cheap perfume filled the air, making it nearly unbearable for the young girl trapped underneath the bed. Her heart raced faster than usual, not just from fear but also because of the arousal building inside her teenage body. She couldn't help but feel ashamed of what was happening to her own mother; yet, at the same time, part of her knew this was all they had left.
The current client—a burly man with a thick accent—groaned loudly as he reached his climax, followed by several grunts before collapsing beside Miranda's limp form. Another man took his place almost immediately, oblivious to the exhausted woman beneath them. Elena winced as another round of rough sex began above her head, wishing fervently that this nightmare would end soon...
One fateful night, as Elena lay awake in bed listening to her mother's drunken stumbles and the distant sounds of more men coming and going, there was a knock on the ramshackle door. Her heart skipped a beat as she heard familiar yet ominous voices outside. It was late; nobody visited during these hours except for trouble. Her worst fears were confirmed when a rough hand pulled harshly on the rusty doorknob, causing it to creak open revealing two shadowy figures standing silhouetted by the dim light filtering through the cracks in the wall.
"Elena," a deep, malicious voice rumbled from one of the shadows before stepping forward into the dimly lit interior. His eyes roamed greedily over her petite frame, taking in every curve and angle as if savoring a delicious meal awaiting consumption. "We've been waiting for you, niña bonita."
Miranda, still half-asleep from the alcohol and drugs consuming her mind, mumbled groggily as she recognized the voices of Elena's "uncles." Groaning reluctantly, she struggled to sit up on the dirty mattress, her red eyes full of despair as she looked at the two men standing over her. "¿Qué quieren, carales?" (What do you want, assholes?) She slurred out between coughs.
One of them, a tall, bald man with a sinister grin spreading across his face, reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a wad of crumpled bills. Holding them up for her to see, he spoke in Spanish, his accent thick but understandable, "Estamos aquí por tu hijita, Marías. Los dinero que te dijimos." (We're here for your daughter, Mary. The money we said.) His tone was cold and calculating, leaving no doubt about the nature of their visit.
"No hay problema, hermanos," (No problem, brothers), muttered Miranda, her voice dripping with false indignation. She knew better than to argue; they had always been ruthless when crossed. Grabbing a threadbare blanket from the floor, she hastily wrapped it around herself before standing up and wobbling over to where Elena lay hidden beneath the bed. Head bowed in shame, eyes downcast, she whispered softly, "Te amo, mija." (I love you, my daughter.)
As if that wasn't enough to convince anyone watching, she pulled off the threadbare covering and exposed her breasts, still covered in sweat and semen, saying, "Mira esto que te hicieron conmigo." (Look at what these bastards did to me.) Turning towards the two men, Miranda continued negotiating their deal: "Puede darme más dinero? Quiero bien vivir hasta las ten años." (Can you give me more money? I want to live well until I turn thirty.)
One of the men laughed cruelly, his eyes roaming greedily over Elena's body once more. "No te preocupes, Marías," he assured her in a low voice, "Esta niña vale mucho más que eso." (Don't worry, Mary; This girl is worth much more than that.) He reached into his pocket again and pulled out another stack of bills, adding it to the first one before placing them on the table beside their target. "Aquí está tu dinero. Sigue siendo nuestra demaquina para los próximos cincuenta años." (Here's your money. She remains ours for fifty years.)
Miranda's pupils dilated at the sight of all those greenbacks cascading onto the grimy surface like golden rain. Her eyes glazed over with desire and greed as she drooled visibly, licking her lips involuntarily. "Entonces, hijitos... ven" (Then, boys... come), she crooned seductively, gesturing towards the still-bound figure of innocent youth beneath the bed.
Elena's heart raced faster than ever as strong hands grabbed her thin arms, yanking her forcefully from beneath the safety of the bed. She struggled futilely against their iron grip as they lifted her off the ground effortlessly, carrying her limp body like a rag doll between them. Her eyes widened in terror as she saw her mother stumbling after them, pleading weakly for them to stop. But it fell on deaf ears as the men paid no heed to her desperate cries.
They brought her outside into the cold night air where awaited a large, grimy warehouse surrounded by tall fences topped with barbed wire—her new home, or rather, prison. The doors creaked ominously as they pushed her inside, illuminating the dark interior with harsh fluorescent lights that cast eerie shadows everywhere. The smell of sweat, urine, and rot assaulted her nostrils as she surveyed her surroundings—cages upon cages filled with young girls and boys, all wearing similar clothes stained with dirt and tears. Their faces were etched with fear and despair, each one telling a story of cruelty and loss identical to hers.
Fast forward eleven years later, Elena Sanchez-turned-Luna stood in the shadows of an upscale neighborhood in Buenos Aires, Argentina, her 5'7" frame clad head-to-toe in black tactical gear that accentuated her curves without revealing too much skin. Her long raven hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail, framing her stern yet alluring features. A thin line of sweat trickled down her forehead as she patiently waited for her mark to emerge from his luxurious mansion. Today would be the day justice caught up with Senator Roberto Mendoza, a notorious corrupt politician whose hands were stained with blood and corruption alike. Luna's eyes narrowed as she spotted his bulletproof SUV pulling out of the driveway, signaling it was time for action.
As the black SUV made its way through the exclusive streets of Palermo Soho, Luna followed closely behind in a rented car matching its description. Once it slowed down for red lights and stop signs, she activated her stealth mode, the vehicle disappearing seamlessly into the night as if swallowed by darkness itself. With practiced ease, she exited hers and moved silently through the quiet residential area towards Senator Mendoza's mansion—a massive fortress-like estate surrounded by high walls topped with sharp spikes. Pulling out a pair of gloves and a silenced Glock 19 from her bag hidden beneath the seat, she double-checked her gear one last time before slipping on a mask resembling that of a maidservant.
Dressed as an elegant yet submissive maid, Luna approached the imposing gate of the mansion, ringing the intercom with trembling hands. A deep voice resonated through the speaker above: "¿Quién es que llama?" (Who is calling?) She spoke in a perfect Spanish accent, her voice velvety and seductive. "Es la nueva niña, senor... para usted." (It's the new girl, sir... for you.) The heavy gates groaned reluctantly before opening slowly, revealing a winding driveway lit by torches flanking either side leading up to the grand entrance. Stepping inside, Luna closed the door behind her quietly, letting out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding as she took in the opulence surrounding her—marble floors polished to perfection, crystal chandeliers hanging overhead casting rainbow-like shadows on the walls adorned with priceless artwork.
Walking gracefully towards the living room, where soft classical music played in the background masking any suspicious sounds, Luna's heels clicked softly on the polished floor. The air was heavy with the scent of expensive perfume and cigar smoke as she made her way through the dimly lit mansion, her hourglass figure swaying enticingly in the tight-fitting uniform. When she entered the opulent living area, Senator Roberto Mendoza sat alone on a plush red sofa, sipping cognac from a crystal glass while watching TV oblivious to his impending doom. His eyes lifted briefly as hers caught his attention, surveying her form appreciatively before returning his focus to the screen. A smile spread across his weathered face as he stood up, approvingly motioning for her to join him.
Luna walked towards him, her steps deliberately slow and sensual as she lowered her head submissively. "Muchas gracias, senor..." (Thank you, sir...) Her voice trailed off seductively before she spoke again, her accent thickening slightly with mock shyness. "Usted es mi nuevo amo." (You are my new master.) His eyes roamed hungrily over her body once more before he set down his drink on the coffee table, standing up from his seat menacingly. Tall and imposing in his tailored suit that accentuated his broad shoulders and muscular build, he towered over the petite maid standing before him.
Without waiting for a response, Roberto grabbed Luna's waist roughly, pulling her closer until their chests brushed against each other. His breath ghosted over her ear as he growled lowly, "Estás mía..." (You're mine...) Before pushing her gently but firmly towards the stairs leading upstairs. She Followed obediently, her heels clicking against the marble steps as they ascended to the upper levels of the mansion. Once they reached the top floor, he opened another heavy door revealing a luxurious master suite adorned with rich fabrics and expensive furnishings fit for a king. Inside, a young girl—identifiable by the same torn clothes and haunted eyes as one of those rescued from the warehouse years ago—lay bound on a large king-sized bed, tears streaming down her dirty face.
The sight of the innocent girl bound and helpless ignited a fire of vengeance within Luna, fueling her resolve to fulfill her mission. As Roberto pushed her onto the bed next to the traumatized girl, he climbed on top of her, pinning both of them down with his weight. He covered her lips roughly with his own, forcing entry into her mouth as his hands reached beneath her skirt, violently tearing away at her undergarments. Meanwhile, his member throbbed against her thigh, demanding entrance. Despite every fiber of her being screaming for resistance, she fought back against the familiar wave of desire washing over her—frustrated arousal turning into pure rage.
Luna's breath hitched as Roberto's tongue invaded her mouth, claiming possession of hers just like he had claimed ownership of so many others. Her body trembled under his rough handling as he undressed himself quickly, exposing his massive cock hardened and ready for action. Groaning softly, she arched her back archingly as he positioned himself at the entrance to her wet pussy, teasingly rubbing the head against her sensitive flesh before pushing in swiftly. A moan escaped her lips as he began to thrust into her tight channel savagely, his grunts of pleasure muffled by their interlocked lips.
Between panting breaths, Luna managed to whisper hoarsely in English, her accented voice dripping with hatred, "This is for all of them... the children lost and broken like disposable items..." With renewed determination igniting within her veins, she focused on pleasing him as best she could while subtly preparing her weapon. Her hands reached out discretely, groping his chest until they found the switchblade hidden beneath his shirt—a gift from her handler back in Colombia. As he picked up speed, pounding into her body mercilessly, Luna waited patiently for the perfect moment. Finally, when he groaned loudly, his whole body tense with imminent climax, she moved quickly, slashing his throat deftly with a swift motion. His warm blood spurted forth, covering her face and breasts in crimson streaks as he convulsed violently before collapsing lifelessly upon her.
After ensuring Senator Mendoza was truly dead, Luna quickly gathered her clothes and hurriedly dressed herself, discarding the bloody mess of his uniform. With trembling hands, she quietly slipped out of the mansion, making sure to lock all doors behind her. The moonlit street outside seemed eerie now, casting long shadows on the pristine pavement stained red with blood.
Trembling with relief, exhaustion, and a mix of emotions she couldn't quite comprehend, she called in her mission status report, explaining what transpired tonight. Her handler listened intently before congratulating her on a job well done. "We commend your skill and dedication, Agent Luna. You're truly one of our best assets." Before ending the call, he added, "The intel you provided about the traffickers is crucial. We will commence operation 'Vengeance Spring' immediately. Rest assured, justice will be served."