Into The Night

A white van rattled along a desolate road, its windows blacked out and the air within reeking of stale smoke and sweat.

Aiko Nakamura huddled in the corner, his wrists bound tightly behind his back, the coarse rope biting into his skin and his legs, bound at the ankles, ached from the cramped position he'd been forced into for hours. The blindfold over his eyes only increased the oppressive darkness, and the muffled sounds of the van's tires crunching gravel filled him with dread. He tried to steady his breathing, but it came in shallow gasps, the faint scent of his own fear lacing the air.

‘How had things turned to this?’ He thought with horror.

All he had wanted was to have fun with his friends, drink, chill and return home to sleep off the drugs buzz.

Somehow between the club and the road home he had been attacked by these unknown people and knocked out.

His slim body trembled as he curled into himself. Their putrid scents making his inner omega whine.

"Think he’s pure?" a voice rasped, cutting through Aiko’s haze of terror. The speaker, seated somewhere up front, spoke in a tone that was coarse yet mixed with curiosity.

“Who cares? He’ll fetch a good price either way," another voice replied, low and filled with amusement. "Boss doesn’t care about the details—just the results. We need three more for the shipment next week.”

Aiko’s chest tightened, his heart hammering in terror. Shipment? Pay? The words buzzed in his head as he tried to process what he was hearing.

“Plus, rich, pampered, little bitches like these are usually overused,” another voice added.

“Doesn’t matter,” the first man said, his tone dark and dismissive. “Boss doesn’t care if they break, as long as they’ve got the markers. You heard him—some fancy lab shit with that drug of theirs. As long as we deliver, we get paid. Big.”

Laughter erupted, a cruel, guttural sound that made Aiko’s stomach churn.

“Yeah, paid enough to finally get out of this dump,” a third man chimed in, his voice lighter, almost jovial, as if he were talking about a lottery win instead of human lives.

“Not with the way you gamble,” someone else quipped, and a round of mocking chuckles followed.

Aiko bit down on the gag stuffed in his mouth, the taste of fabric and his own saliva making him want to retch. The men spoke over him as if he weren’t there, as if he were less than human, just cargo to be transported. His mind raced, cycling between fragmented images of his family, his small apartment, and the yawning void of uncertainty that lay ahead.

Why was this happening to him?

The van jolted suddenly, and Aiko’s body slammed against the cold, metal wall. A sharp pain shot through his shoulder, but he barely registered it. His mind was racing, his pulse hammering in his ears. He needed to get out, but how? His hands were useless, and his legs felt like lead.

Through the muffling layers of fabric and fear, he picked up snippets of their conversation: something about a “new buyer,” “connections in high places,” and the phrase that made his blood run cold—“experimental doses.”

The van screeched to a halt, throwing Aiko forward before his head hit the wall. He whimpered quietly, his body trembling uncontrollably.

His head ached from hitting everything on the way here. Where were they taking him? How far from the city were they?

“Shut him up,” one of them barked.

Heavy footsteps approached, and a hand yanked his hair, pulling him up.

Aiko cried as he struggled, he could feel the strands being pulled off their roots. “Be quiet bitch,” a rough palm connected to his face, jerking his head to the side from the force.

Aiko’s body slid slightly with the movement, his shoulder slamming into the metal wall of the van. He bit back a cry, the pain radiating down his arm.

"Careful back there!" the second man barked. "Don’t damage the goods."

Goods. The word echoed in Aiko’s mind, hollow and dehumanizing. He clenched his teeth around his gag, his body trembling as he fought against the overwhelming tide of fear.

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, how did he fall into the hands of traffickers? Was he going to die?

The vehicle lurched to a stop, and Aiko braced himself as the doors were wrenched open. Cold air rushed in, stinging his skin.

"Move," one of the men barked, grabbing Aiko by the arm and dragging him out of the van.

The gravel beneath his bare feet was sharp, cutting into his skin as they shoved him forward. The blindfold was ripped away, and Aiko blinked rapidly, his eyes adjusting to the dim light of the alley they had parked in. He caught fleeting glimpses of his captors: rough, unshaven faces, leather jackets, tattoos. Yakuza.

Fuck.

Aiko’s gaze darted around, desperate for a way out, but the men tightened their grip on him, their hands like iron. One of them leaned close, his breath reeking of cigarettes as he sneered.

"Don’t even think about running, omega. You wouldn’t get far."

He pushed Aiko forward, making the omega stumble and fall to the ground. The gravel cut into his delicate pale skin and tears finally began to pour down his eyes.

The others laughed, their voices echoing in the narrow alley.

A tall man with a scar running down his cheek crouched in front of him, his breath also reeking of tobacco.

“Listen, pretty boy,” the man said, his grin sharp and predatory. “If you make one more sound, just one, I’ll make sure you don’t need that pretty face of yours anymore. Got it?”

Aiko nodded frantically, tears streaming down his face. He didn’t dare make a sound.

The man laughed. “Good little omega.”

*****

Haruki jolted awake, the faint chill of the night air seeping through the cracked window of the car. For a moment, he was disoriented, his heart pounding in his chest as if he’d been running. His hand instinctively went to the gun holstered at his side, but then he registered the steady hum of the engine and the muffled thump of the club music from across the street.

"You awake now?" Takahashi’s voice was calm, a faint hint of amusement coloring his words. The older alpha sat in the driver’s seat, one hand resting casually on the steering wheel as he glanced at Haruki out of the corner of his eye.

Haruki ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. "Why’d you let me sleep?"

"You looked like you needed it," Takahashi replied with a shrug. "Figured one of us should be rested. Don’t worry, I’ve been keeping watch."

Haruki huffed, turning to stare out the window. The neon signs of nearby businesses cast a dim, flickering light over the street, highlighting the worn asphalt and the shadows that clung to every corner. He could see faint movement in the alley across the way, but it was just a stray cat scrounging for food.

Haruki sighed, slumping further into his seat. He wanted action, something tangible to sink his teeth into. Stakeouts had never been his style. Sitting and waiting while innocent people suffered went against every instinct he had.

He glanced at Takahashi, who remained calm and composed, his presence steady as a rock. Dependable. That was the word that always came to mind when Haruki thought about his partner. Takahashi had a knack for grounding everyone around him, a skill Haruki secretly appreciated more than he let on.

”Something on your mind?” Takahashi asked, noticing his stare.

“You’re too soft," Haruki muttered, though there was no real bite in his tone. Takahashi had always been like this, steady, and maddeningly calm under pressure.

"Soft, huh?" Takahashi chuckled. "I’ll take that as a compliment."

Haruki rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the small smirk that tugged at his lips. Of course he would. Most people found it hard to believe Takahashi was an alpha with his disposition.

Still, it didn’t stop the restless energy coursing through him, the gnawing frustration of being unable to act. Haruki clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms.

“We should be doing more,” he muttered, his voice low but edged with determination.

Takahashi nodded slightly, his expression unreadable. “And we will. Soon.”

They lapsed into silence, watching the street for any suspicious activity.

People loitered around, making their way home or stumbling in and out of the club and the surrounding areas.

“We’re sitting here twiddling our thumbs while god knows what is happening to the people we’re supposed to be protecting,” Haruki suddenly mumbled, voice tight.

Takahashi’s gaze softened, but he didn’t respond right away. Instead, he reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a thermos, pouring a small amount of coffee into the lid and offering it to Haruki.

"Here," he said. "You’ll think clearer if you’re not running on fumes."

Haruki hesitated but took the coffee, the bitter scent filling the car. He sipped it slowly, the warmth spreading through his chest. It wasn’t much, but it grounded him, pulling him out of the spiraling thoughts that threatened to consume him.

"I hate this," he admitted quietly, his eyes fixed on the darkened street. "I hate feeling useless."

"You’re not useless," Takahashi said firmly. "We’re doing what we can, Haruki. You know that."

Haruki turned back to the window, his eyes scanning the empty street. The city stretched out before them, its shadows hiding both the innocent and the guilty. Somewhere out there, people like Aiko Nakamura were waiting to be saved. Haruki didn’t intend to let them down.