One-Eyed Terror

The cigarette was stale.

I let it smolder between my fingers, watching the ember shrink, the smoke curling into the cold night air before fading into nothing. The street was quiet—too quiet. The kind of silence that didn't mean peace, just absence. A flickering streetlamp buzzed overhead, casting weak, uneven light onto the cracked pavement.

A neon sign across the road buzzed in and out of life, its half-burned-out letters promising drinks, cheap food, and bad decisions. But no one was inside. No one ever was.

I took one last drag, held it in my lungs for a moment, then flicked the cigarette into the gutter. It landed in a shallow puddle, hissed softly, and died.

No more stalling.

I pulled my hood up and started walking.

The streets were familiar, but that didn't make them any less ugly. I passed by a row of shuttered shops, their metal grates covered in graffiti, layers upon layers of angry scrawls that no one had bothered to clean. A few of the buildings had broken windows, jagged glass still clinging to the frames. The alley ahead reeked of piss, old garbage, and something worse, something sour and rotten that had been left to fester for too long.

I moved fast, keeping my head low, my hands shoved deep into my pockets.

North. That's where they were.

Then, voices.

I slowed my pace, stepping into the shadows just before the entrance to a side alley. Two men stood outside a rundown building, smoking. Their faces were barely visible in the weak light, but their voices carried through the still night like they had no reason to be quiet. No fear. No urgency. Just conversation.

"—kept whining about it," one of them said, his voice rough with amusement. "Like it fucking mattered."

The other let out a slow chuckle. "The small one fought back, didn't she?"

"Yeah. At first." A long drag of a cigarette, a slow exhale. "She got tired quick. The other two just sat there. Let it happen."

A pause. Then a low whistle.

"Damn."

The first one snorted. "Yeah. Some real tough girls you found, huh?"

I didn't blink.

I didn't clench my fists.

I just listened.

The laughter that followed was slow, lazy. Careless.

And why wouldn't it be?

Nothing was going to happen to them.

Not from me.

I wasn't here for them.

I wasn't here for revenge.

I didn't care what had already happened to the girls. I didn't care if they were shaking, if their skin crawled from the hands that had touched them. I didn't care if they cried or if they were too numb to cry at all. None of it mattered.

The only thing that mattered was that they were still breathing.

If they could breathe, they could walk. If they could walk, I could get them out.

That was all.

The rest? Not my problem.

The taller one took another drag of his cigarette, exhaling slowly through his nose. "You think they'll behave now?"

The other man scoffed. "What, you mean after a little fun? Please. Give it an hour, they'll be back to being a fucking headache."

The taller one exhaled sharply, annoyed. "Shame we can't keep 'em quiet for good."

The first one hummed, like he was considering it. "Maybe later."

I almost laughed.

"Later" wasn't going to come for them.

I took a step back into the alley, silent. There would be time for blood later—maybe. If it made sense. If it was necessary.

Right now, it wasn't.

They weren't in my way.

Yet.

I kept walking, slipping deeper into the dead streets, moving past buildings that hadn't seen light in years. The air was thick here, heavy with damp concrete, rust, and the faint metallic tang of old blood.

Then, another voice.

Not a scream this time.

A whimper.

Soft. Choked. Somewhere nearby.

Then, the sound of something—someone—hitting the ground. A gasp. A desperate shuffle. Then, nothing.

I didn't stop.

Whatever had just happened was over now.

Someone else had died.

But it wasn't them.

The final turn led me straight to it.

The storage room door.

A thick, industrial slab of rusted metal. Heavy. Stained. The kind of door that swallowed sound, that could keep something trapped inside just as easily as it could keep something out.

If they were in there, they had no idea what had already happened outside. They didn't know what was still waiting for them.

I curled my fingers around the handle. Cold metal. My pulse steady.

This was just a job.

Nothing more.

I pushed the door open.

The door creaked as it swung open, the rusted hinges groaning under the weight of years. The darkness inside felt thick, pressing against me like a living thing. The air was stale, damp, laced with the faint scent of mold, old wood, and something metallic. Blood, maybe. Or rust.

I stepped inside.

The dim light from outside barely reached past the threshold. Shadows stretched unnaturally long across the cracked concrete floor, pooling in the corners like something waiting. The room was cluttered—wooden crates stacked carelessly, a few rusted barrels pushed against the walls. Old tools littered the floor, their edges dulled by time but still sharp enough to do damage in the right hands.

And then, the sound.

A breath.

Short. Uneven.

Not mine.

I closed the door behind me, sealing off what little light had been spilling in. The room plunged into near-total darkness, the only illumination coming from a small, flickering fluorescent tube high above. It buzzed softly, throwing erratic shadows across the walls.

I listened.

Someone was here.

The silence stretched, thick with something just beneath the surface—fear, desperation. Then, movement. A slight shift. The scrape of fabric against concrete. Shallow breathing, barely controlled.

I knew they were watching me, the same way I was listening to them.

I took a step forward, slow, deliberate. My boots barely made a sound against the ground.

"Get up," I said. My voice was calm. Even.

No response.

Another step.

"Now."

A rustling noise—hesitant, reluctant. Then, a whisper. A female voice, weak, hoarse. "Who…?"

I didn't answer.

I could feel their fear hanging in the air, thick like smoke. It didn't bother me. It wasn't my job to make them feel safe.

"Where are the others?" I asked.

Silence. Then, the faintest inhale. She was afraid to answer. Maybe afraid she'd say the wrong thing.

"I don't know," she said finally. "They took them."

Took them.

I rolled my shoulders, exhaling through my nose. Not ideal. But not unexpected.

I took another step closer, my eyes slowly adjusting to the dim light. She was huddled against the far wall, her knees drawn up, arms wrapped around herself. Her hair was a mess, sticking to the side of her face, her clothes torn at the edges. But she was still intact. Still breathing. That meant she could move.

"Then we're leaving," I said simply.

She flinched at my voice.

I didn't have time for this.

I reached down, grabbing her by the arm, pulling her up in one motion. She gasped, stumbling slightly, her balance unsteady. I didn't let go.

"You want to live?" I asked.

She nodded quickly, eyes wide, breath uneven.

"Then walk."

I didn't wait for an answer.

The storage room was only a temporary stop. If the others had been taken somewhere else, that meant things were about to get complicated. But it didn't change anything.

They were still breathing.

That meant I could still get them out.

Nothing else mattered.

I moved toward the door, dragging her with me.

Somewhere outside, the city groaned—a distant car engine revving, a door slamming shut. But beneath it, beneath all the usual noise of a place long past saving, something else stirred.

A feeling.

Like something was watching.

Waiting.

The job wasn't over yet.

And neither was the night.

She was lighter than I expected.

When I pulled her up, she staggered, barely able to keep herself standing. Her arm was thin under my grip, her whole body tense like a coiled spring. She flinched at the slightest movement, her breathing sharp and unsteady.

Seventeen. The youngest of the three.

Lina.

I didn't say her name. Didn't acknowledge it. It didn't matter.

She was just another piece to move. Another part of the job.

Her legs wobbled, but I didn't slow down. I kept a firm grip on her arm as I led her toward the door. If she fell, I'd drag her. If she resisted, I'd force her. I wasn't here to comfort her.

I was here to get her out.

That was all.

As we stepped into the cold night, she let out a shuddering breath, almost a sob, but swallowed it down. Good. Crying would slow her down.

We moved fast, slipping through the alleyways, keeping to the shadows. She stumbled twice, but I didn't let her fall. I didn't let her stop.

Then, finally, she spoke.

"I thought—I thought you weren't coming."

Her voice was hoarse, raw from either screaming or crying. Maybe both.

I didn't answer.

She swallowed hard. "They said no one was coming." A pause. "They said we'd just disappear."

Still, I said nothing.

She let out a nervous laugh, shaky and broken. "Guess they were wrong, huh?"

I turned a corner, pulling her along. The city stretched ahead, a maze of crumbling buildings and empty streets.

"I thought they were gonna kill us," she whispered, mostly to herself. "I mean… I knew they were gonna hurt us, but—I really thought—"

Her voice cracked.

I kept walking.

She sniffled, her free hand gripping her torn sleeve. "They kept saying things. Kept—kept laughing." Her breath hitched. "I couldn't—I couldn't stop them."

I felt her glance up at me, searching for something in my face. Reassurance. Understanding.

She wouldn't find it.

A few more steps. Then, she finally asked the question.

"Who… who are you?"

Her voice was barely above a whisper, but there was something in it. Fear, curiosity. Maybe even hope.

I let the silence stretch between us. I knew what she wanted. Some kind of answer that would make this all make sense.

But the truth was simple.

"Doesn't matter," I said.

She swallowed. "It does to me."

I sighed, adjusting my grip on her arm. "If you need an answer, fine. I'm the one who got you out."

She hesitated. "That's it?"

I gave a small, humorless smile. "If you want something more… I guess you could say I'm a killer."

She stiffened. Her breath caught in her throat.

I felt the way her body tensed, the way her steps faltered for just a second.

Good.

Fear kept people obedient. Fear kept them quiet.

I didn't look at her as I kept moving. "Now, keep walking. We're not done yet."

She didn't say anything else.

She just followed.

Lina was barely keeping up.

Her steps were erratic, breath short and panicked. I could feel the tremors running through her body, her entire frame weighed down by exhaustion and something else—something deeper.

She was scared.

Not just of what had happened to her.

She was scared of me.

Good.

We turned a corner, the alley stretching into darkness, when suddenly—

A figure stepped out.

I barely had time to register him before something heavy slammed into my chest.

The impact knocked me back, my spine hitting the pavement hard. My skull cracked against the ground, vision flickering with white-hot sparks.

For a moment, I just laid there, listening to the distant ringing in my ears. Tasting copper on my tongue.

By the time my vision settled, I saw him.

Tall. Broad. Wrapped in a dark jacket that reeked of sweat and cheap cigarettes.

One of them.

One of the laughing bastards from before.

Lina was on the ground, too. But she wasn't looking at me.

She was staring at him.

Frozen.

The second stretched.

Then he smiled.

"Well, shit," he muttered, his tone light, casual. Like we were just two old friends bumping into each other on the street. "Didn't think I'd be seeing you again so soon, sweetheart."

Lina flinched violently, her breath catching in her throat.

His smirk widened.

"Still jumpy?" His voice was thick with amusement. "Come on, don't give me that look. We had fun, didn't we?" He stepped closer, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "You remember, don't you? How I held you down? How you shook? I do."

Lina let out a small, broken whimper.

He crouched slightly, eyes gleaming with something dark. "You were so soft," he murmured. "So fucking warm. Bet you still feel me, don't you?"

I moved.

No warning.

No hesitation.

One second, he was standing there, talking. The next, he was choking on his own scream.

The knife went in fast, slicing into his eye socket with a sickening pop.

His entire body spasmed violently. His hands shot up, grabbing at my wrist, fingers clawing in desperate, panicked jerks.

His remaining eye bulged in horror. His lips parted, forming the beginning of a plea—

I twisted the blade.

A wet, gurgled noise escaped him, something between a scream and a gasp. Blood spilled down his face in erratic, pulsing streams, pooling at the corner of his lips, dripping onto the pavement in slow, heavy drops.

I let him feel it.

Let him drown in it.

He twitched and convulsed, his mouth opening and closing in frantic, useless movements.

I ripped the knife free.

A thick, wet squelch filled the alley, the cartilage and soft tissue tearing apart.

He stumbled, his hands flying to his ruined eye, his fingers trembling over the gaping, oozing hole.

He was still alive.

Barely.

His lips trembled, his chest rising and falling in uneven, choked gasps.

He tried to say something.

Beg, maybe.

Didn't matter.

I shoved the blade under his chin and drove it up.

The steel punctured through flesh, tearing through arteries, shredding muscle, breaking through the roof of his mouth.

His body jolted once.

Then again.

A final, violent spasm.

His lips parted, thick, bubbling blood spilling over his chin, his last breath slipping out in a weak, shuddering choke.

Then, silence.

His body crumpled onto the pavement with a wet, lifeless thud.

I pulled the knife free. Flicked the blood off the blade. Wiped it clean against his jacket.

Then, finally, I turned to Lina.

She hadn't moved.

Hadn't even blinked.

Her hands were clamped over her mouth, her entire body trembling so hard I thought she might fall apart right there.

Her eyes locked onto the corpse, unblinking.

Like she couldn't comprehend what she had just seen.

Good.

I crouched down, staring at her. "Get up."

She didn't move.

Didn't even breathe.

I grabbed her arm and yanked her up.

She gasped, her legs barely keeping her upright.

For a moment, she just stood there, staring at me, her lips parting like she wanted to speak.

Then, her voice—weak, shaky. "Y-Your name."

I exhaled. "Not important."

Her fingers curled into her sleeves, knuckles white. "Who… who are you?"

I tilted my head slightly. "Does it matter?"

Her breath hitched. "It does to me."

I stared at her for a moment.

Then, finally, I smiled.

"You want an answer?" I nodded toward the corpse at our feet. "That's who I am."

She swallowed. "You… you kill people."

"Yeah."

Her eyes flickered with something—fear, realization, disgust. Maybe all three.

She hesitated. "But… why?"

I shrugged. "Because it's easy."

Her body tensed.

I leaned in slightly, voice calm. "You think I felt something?" I gestured toward the body with the bloodied knife still in my hand. "Pity? Anger? Satisfaction?" A short pause. "I didn't."

She swallowed thickly.

I smirked. "I put a knife in him. He stopped breathing. That's all it is."

Her breath shuddered. Her lips trembled. "You're a monster."

I shrugged again. "If that makes you feel better."

She looked away, her hands shaking so badly she could barely hold them still.

I turned, starting forward. "Keep walking."

She didn't move.

Didn't speak.

Then, finally, her voice—so quiet I almost didn't hear it.

"Are you gonna kill me too?"

I stopped.

Turned my head slightly, just enough to see her out of the corner of my eye.

Then, I smirked.

"Not unless I have to."

She didn't respond.

Just swallowed hard and started walking.

And I followed.

The night wasn't over yet.

I didn't have time for Lina.

I wasn't here to hold her hand, to tell her she was safe, or to let her collapse under the weight of everything that had happened. The only thing that mattered was getting her out of my way so I could move forward. So, I called Baek.

He answered on the second ring. His voice was clipped, impatient. "What?"

"I have something for you," I said.

A short pause. "Where?"

I gave him the location. That was it. No unnecessary questions, no wasted words.

Lina followed me in silence, barely keeping up, arms wrapped tightly around herself as if she could hold herself together that way. Her breathing was still uneven, her footsteps hesitant. The entire time, she hadn't spoken a single word. But the second we arrived, something shifted.

Baek was already there, standing near a dark sedan, a cigarette burning between his fingers. His expression was unreadable, but that was normal. He wasn't the kind of man who wore his emotions on his face. He barely even glanced at me before his eyes flickered toward Lina.

And then—unexpectedly—she moved.

Her whole body tensed, her breath hitched, and before I could react, she pointed a trembling hand at me, voice rising in panic.

"This man—he hunts people!"

Baek barely reacted. He exhaled a slow stream of smoke, looking at her with mild disinterest before glancing at me.

I tilted my head slightly, a smirk tugging at the corner of my lips. "Guess that makes me a damn good hunter, then."

Baek didn't respond to that either. Instead, he reached into his coat, pulled out a slightly crumpled envelope, and held it out. "Take it."

I took the envelope and opened it. The documents inside were a mess—hastily written notes, surveillance shots, printed reports with scrawled annotations. But the message was clear.

Lina's sisters had been split up, sent to different locations. The eldest was still untouched, hidden away in some low-end club, likely being prepped for sale. The middle one… she was already lost in it.

I scanned the details again, slower this time, jaw tightening slightly. They had pumped her full of drugs, kept her in a haze so thick she couldn't tell what was happening to her anymore. And now, she was being passed around like nothing more than a product on a shelf.

Baek watched me as I read, but not in the way most people did. There was no curiosity in his gaze, no concern. Just cold, detached expectation. Like he already knew exactly how this was going to play out.

I closed the envelope and tucked it into my jacket. "Can't law enforcement—"

Baek cut me off before I could finish. "Too complicated."

I studied his face, waiting for more. He didn't leave me waiting long.

"These places don't run themselves," he said, flicking ash from his cigarette. "They have protection—real protection. You're not walking into some back-alley brothel run by nobodies. These are organized, structured, well-guarded businesses."

I didn't say anything. I already knew where this was going.

Baek took another slow drag, his voice staying flat. "You'll find gang muscle watching the doors, but they're not the real problem. The real problem is the professionals." His eyes flickered toward me, sharp and calculating. "Mercenaries. Ex-military. People who get paid well to make sure no one like you walks in and walks out."

I let the words settle. It wasn't surprising. A place like this couldn't operate in a city like this without serious security.

Baek sighed through his nose, dropping his cigarette and crushing it under his heel. "If you go in, you better understand what you're walking into."

I nodded once. I understood perfectly.

Baek had already turned away before I even moved toward the car he had arranged. It was nothing special—an old, unregistered sedan. Reliable. Disposable. The kind of car that could disappear without anyone asking questions.

I opened the driver's side door but didn't get in right away. "Anything else?"

Baek didn't even look at me as he spoke. "Just get it done."

That was the end of it. He had done his part.

I slid into the seat, gripping the wheel, feeling the cold leather press against my palms. My mind was already ahead of me.

The first brothel.

The place where the middle sister was being held.

This time, I wasn't going in unarmed.