6

««⟨•⟩»»

/Action speaks louder then word's/

««⟨•⟩»»

The clouds burst open.

In the dark....

.....a tall man waits in front of an old sugarcane factory, wearing a black leather jacket and cowboy boots. His bike is parked beside him. The factory has been dead for ten years, its machinery rusting away. Worn-out trucks are scattered across the lot. One van catches the eye-its windows blacked out, except for the front windshield.

He moves toward the factory as rain pours down, soaking him to the bone. Water streams from his hair, down his mustache, and off his chin. Inside, he steps over rusted crushers and broken conveyor belts. The old centrifuges lie half-torn apart, their metal frames sticking out like ribs.

Five men face a bald, muscular guy in a vest-their leader. He flips a cigarette pack from his pocket, glances at the picture of a diseased mouth on the cover, and smiles. Water drips through the roof onto his shoulder, and he steps aside. A curly-haired man flicks a lighter, lights the cigarette, and steps back. "Two freight carriers are heading to Punji. They'll be handed over to the Saudi trader," the leader says.

"But there's a strict lockdown for two days," a pale man interrupts.

"Not for us," the leader replies.

"How's that?" a man with a ponytail asks. The leader takes a long drag, lets the smoke curl from his lips, and says, "The state hasn't banned trucks from moving goods across borders."

"And the other two will go to Kerala and Raj..." the leader pauses, his words cut short by the sound of heavy footsteps echoing through the factory. He turns his head toward the entrance. A man, drenched from the rain, walks toward them with slow, steady steps. All eyes lock onto him. He doesn't stop, eyes on fire.

"Hey man! What's up?" calls out the pale man from a distance. No response. The pale man steps forward, stopping just short of the intruder, but the tall man keeps coming. "Buddy, I'm speaking to you!" the pale man shouts again. Still no answer. Angered, the pale man charges forward and strikes the man in the face. Blood drips from the tall man's mouth. He glares back, unflinching.

The pale man swings again, aiming for his face, but the tall man sidesteps, grabs his arm in mid-air, and twists it hard until there's a crack. The pale man cries out in pain. With a swift move, the tall man spins him around and kicks his legs out from under him, sending him crashing to the ground.

The pale man is down. The remaining four men draw their knives, ready.

They rush forward.... he moves slowly. They strike together. Three knives plunges into his jacket, cutting deep into his flesh. Blood pours out, soaking the fabric. But he swings a fist straight into the face of the fourth guy. Teeth crack, scattering like broken glass as the man crashes to the ground.

The Three attackers yank their knives out of his body in one motion. He grunts, a deep, guttural sound escape his lips as pain shoots through him. His face tightens, but he doesn't stop moving.

They charge at him again, relentless. He takes a step back, steadying himself. Blood continues to drip from his wounds, but his eyes burn with fury. The first man lunges, but he sidesteps, grabbing his arm and twisting it until a sickening snap echoes through the factory. The man howls in pain, dropping his knife.

The second man swings wildly. He ducks, then drives his elbow into the attacker's gut. The man doubles over, gasping for breath.

The third attacker hesitates for a moment, just long enough for the tall man to grab him by the collar and slam his head into the rusted metal wall. The clang of impact rings out. The attacker crumples to the floor, unconscious.

Breathing heavily, the tall man stands, blood dripping from his body, his gaze still fierce. The leader watches, cigarette still smoldering in his hand, a slow smile spreading across his face.

"Impressive..." the leader says, clapping slowly, "I like it..."

The tall man listens in silence, his breaths heavy.

"Okay..." The leader continues, "Tell me what you need?"

"Girls," the tall man mutters.

The leader bursts into laughter. "Nice choice, but you gotta pay for that."

The tall man remains silent, his gaze fixed.

"Come on, man! I paid for them too. And I've got deals with foreign traders. But I'd cancel all that... just for you." The leader smirks. "But you have to pay the price." He laughs again, louder this time.

The tall man's rage simmers, his fists clenching.

"Woah, woah, woah. Look at you!" the leader taunts, chuckling, "Have some self-control, bro."

The tall man moves toward him, his patience gone. "Enough chatter!" he shouts, and with a brutal kick to the chest, sends the leader flying across the floor. The leader crashes down, groaning in pain, but he struggles back to his feet, his muscles tightening, his fists ready.

"You're stupid!" he spits, anger flashing in his eyes.

The tall guy charges forward, aiming to punch, but the leader is quicker. He blocks the punch, then slams a couple of hard hits into the tall guy's face, breaking his nose. Blood spurts, and the leader grabs him, hurling him across the room. The tall guy crashes to the ground, pain shooting through his body.

The leader strides toward him, confident, but the tall guy reaches out, his fingers finding a rusted iron rod from the machinery nearby. With a desperate swing, he smashes it against the leader's head. There's a sickening crack as the skull splits open, blood gushing out like a broken pipe.

The tall guy stands, dropping the rod, his chest heaving. He looks down at the leader's lifeless body. The five men are still breathing, but they are too broken, too scared, to move.

He searches the factory, moving through the shadows, but finds no one else. With a sigh, he steps outside. For a moment, there is nothing but the sound of raindrops striking the rusted metal of the factory. Then, something catches his ear-faint cries, barely audible, but unmistakable.

He turns toward the sound, scanning the area. The cries grow clearer. He moves closer, past the van and toward the four rusty trucks. The trucks are padlocked from the back. He grabs a large stone and strikes one of the locks, but it doesn't break. Frustrated, he looks around, then pauses.

He runs back inside the factory, where the men are still groaning and sobbing on the ground.

"Keys?" he demands.

The pale man weakly raises a hand, pointing to the leader's body.

Moments later, the tall man returns outside with the keys. He fumbles with them for a second before finding the right one and unlocking the first truck. He pulls open the latch and swings the door wide.

Inside, over fifty girls are crammed together, their faces pale, eyes hollow with fear. Their clothes are dirty and torn, their bodies bruised and thin, shivering from cold and terror. Some are clutching each other, while others stare blankly into the distance, their cheeks stained with dried tears. The air inside is thick with the stench of sweat and despair.

One by one, he unlocks the other trucks, revealing more of the same-faces of desperation, eyes pleading for rescue.

Without a word, he turns and walks back to his bike. One girl leaps from the truck, crying out loudly, her voice breaking with fear and relief. But he doesn't stop; he doesn't turn around.

They're now free. They're happy. He's happy.

----

End of part 6.