The Fall

Aarne's plan had been flawless-or so he

thought. Weeks of careful observation had

led him to this moment, crouched in the

shadowS near the side entrance of the

warehouse. Tonight, he would stop the

shipment of trafficked children and finally

make amends for the darkness that had

consumed his life. But as he reached for

the door, something felt off. The air was

too still, too quiet.

Before he could process the unease

gnawing at him, he felt the cold steel of a

gun barrel press against the back of his

neck. A familiar voice, dripping with

disdain, shattered the silence.

"Don't move."

Aarne's heart plummeted. He recognized

the voice instantly-the lieutenant, a man

notorious for his cruelty and suspicion.

slowly, Aarne raised his hands, his pulse

thundering in his ears as he turned to face

the man. The lieutenant's eyes, cold and

unforgiving, bore into him, a smirk playing

on his lips.

"You really thought you could pull this off?"

the lieutenant sneered, circling Aarne like a

predator. "We've been watching you for a

long time, waiting for you to make your

move. And now, here you are, right where

we want you."

Before Aarne could respond, rough hands

grabbed him from behind, yanking him to

his knees. He struggled, but his strength

was no match for the guards who pinned

him down. The lieutenant stepped closer,

the smirk fading into a look of pure

contempt.

"You're no hero, Aarne. Just a traitor. And

traitors get what's coming to them."

The first blow came fast and hard, the butt

of the lieutenant's pistol cracking against

Aarne's cheekbone. Pain radiated through

his skull, but he refused to cry out, refusing

to give them the satisfaction. The

lieutenant's eyes narrowed, and he

unleashed a brutal beating, his fists and

boots striking with merciless precision.

Each blow was filled with the rage of

betrayal, and Aarne's vision blurred as he

felt ribs crack and skin split open. Blood

filled his mouth, and every breath was

agony.

But through the pain, Aarne clung to a

single thought: he wouldn't break. No

matter what they did to him, he wouldn't

scream, wouldn't beg. He had made his

choice, and he would face the

Consequences like a man.

Finally, after what felt like hours, the

beating stopped. Aarne lay on the cold

ground, barely conscious, his body a

throbbing mass of pain. The lieutenant

loomed over him, his breathing heavy, a

sneer twisting his lips.

"Take him to the cells" he ordered the

guards. "Let him rot with the others. Maybe

then he'lIl understand the price of betrayal."

Aarne was hauled to his feet, his legs

barely able to support his weight as the

guards dragged him through the dark

corridors of the warehouse. His mind

drifted in and out of consciousness,

flashes of his past mingling with the

present. He saw his mother's face, her

gentle smile, before it was replaced by his

father's rage, the cold eyes of the

traffickers who had first captured him, and

now, the lieutenant's sneering face.

The guards threw him into a small, damp

cell, the heavy door slamming shut behind

him. Aarne crumpled to the floor, too weak

to move, his body screaming in pain. He

lay there in the darkness, the sound of

distant cries from other cells echoing in

his ears-the cries of children he had failed

to save. Guilt gnawed at him, deeper than

any physical wound.

As the darkness threatened to swallow him

whole, Aarne felt a gentle touch on his

shoulder. He flinched, expecting more pain,

but instead, the touch was soft, almost

comforting. He forced his eyes open and

blinked against the dim light filtering into

the cell. A figure knelt beside him, a girl

with delicate features and striking eyes

filled with concern.

"Are you alright?" she asked, her voice soft

and soothing.

Aarne tried to respond, but his throat was

raw, and all he managed was a raspy

croak. The girl, undeterred, slipped her arm

under his, trying to help him sit up. Aarne

winced as pain shot through his ribs, but

he didn't resist. Another figure appeared

beside her-a young boy, no older than

twelve, with wide eyes and a determined

expression.

"Come on," the boy urged, his small hands

gripping Aarne's other arm. "We'll help

you."

Together, they lifted Aarne into a sitting

position, his back resting against the cold

stone wall. The girl, whom Aarne would

SOon learn was named Linda, sat beside

him, her hand still gently supporting his

arm. The boy, Jason, knelt in front of them,

his eyes full of a fierce determination that

belied his age.

"Thank you" Aarne whispered, his voice

barely audible. He looked at them, these

two young strangers who had shown him

more kindness in a few moments than he

had known in years.

Linda smiled softly, her eyes shining with a

warmth that eased the cold grip of despair

in Aarne's chest. "We're all in this together"

she said, her voice steady. "And we're going

to get through it. You're not alone."

Jason nodded, his small hands balling into

fists. "We've got to stick together. They

can't break us if we don't let them."

Aarne's chest tightened at the boy's words.

He had been ready to give up, to let the

pain and guilt consume him. But as he

looked at Linda and Jason, he felt a spark

of something he hadn't felt in a long time-

hope. They were just children, yet they had

a strength that he had nearly lost.

He leaned his head back against the wall,

closing his eyes as exhaustion threatened

to pull him under. But this time, he didn't

feel alone. Linda and Jason's presence,

their quiet determination, gave him a

reason to fight. And as he drifted into a

restless sleep, he held onto that thought,

knowing that somehow, they would find a

way to survive-together.