009: The Price Of Survival

Olga's eyes never left mine as she continued, "Let's start from the bottom, because that's where we all are. Z26, Y25, and X24—these are the lowest ranks. We are the dirt of the dirt, the expendables, doing whatever is needed—sometimes even unspeakable things. But if you survive, you can climb. You might even get some freedom."

Her words lingered in the air, heavy and cruel. They hit me harder than I expected. Freedom. A dream sold in pieces.

"I started at W23," Olga added, her voice laced with bitterness. "Girls who are captured or sold are placed in W23. If you're lucky, you won't end up in Z26… like I did."

"An auction?" Maja asked, her voice smaller than usual, as if afraid that speaking it aloud would make it real.

"Yes. Auctions. The kind where they evaluate your face, your body, your bloodline, your virginity like cattle. Some of us are shipped out to brothels. Others—those like you—get kept. Don't worry about that now." Olga's tone shifted sharply, snapping us back into reality. "What you need to focus on is what's coming next."

My mouth was dry. "What happens in Z26? What do we… do?"

Olga leaned in slightly. The yellow light from the single hanging bulb above us caught in her eyes, making them appear almost gold. "We serve. We run errands. We carry loads, clean up blood, harvest weed, package drugs… and sometimes," she paused for dramatic effect, "we're asked to kill."

A pit formed in my stomach. Kill? Was this really the level we'd sunk to? I wasn't a killer. Not really. But the memory of that one night—those screaming seconds before silence—clung to me like second skin. My heartbeat grew louder. Faster.

Silence blanketed the room. Maja didn't speak. I didn't breathe. Around us, the others moved quietly, their eyes hollow and movements robotic. It was like being in a camp where joy had been suffocated long ago.

Later that evening, the room fell into an eerie stillness. The overhead lights dimmed, signaling bedtime. Girls shuffled to their thin, creaking bunks. I had been assigned a free one beside the window. As I sat down on the white sheet, rough beneath my fingers, I glanced around the room. Laughter drifted from a corner—a weak attempt at pretending everything was okay. But it wasn't. Nothing was.

"Can't sleep, huh?" Maja's soft voice pierced the quiet. She climbed down from the upper bunk, curling beside me on the hard mattress.

I shook my head. My eyes remained fixed on the rusting iron bars of the window, moonlight slithering in through the cracks.

"I'm from Viscale, up north," Maja murmured, voice far away. "I was rejected there and ended up here. On Pedro's orders."

"That's far." I glanced at her, surprised at the intimacy of her confession. "You must miss your family."

She let out a sound that wasn't quite a laugh. "I don't have a family. Just my dad. He gambles like it's his religion. He sold everything we had—even my mom's wedding ring. I wish I had the courage to… to kill him. In cold blood."

Her words startled me. I flinched.

My palms burned suddenly. I remembered the blood on them. The sticky warmth. The stillness of the woman at my feet. A flash of crimson against white tile.

"I wish I hadn't killed her," I whispered, more to myself than to her. My throat tightened. The guilt I carried clawed at my insides every time I blinked.

Maja looked at me in silence, then said, "You don't seem like the girl everyone talks about. They called you 'The Slayer,' right?"

I winced. That name. I hated it.

"I did what I had to do to survive. But I didn't want to hurt anyone. Not really."

She nodded slowly. "Then you shouldn't be here."

"No one should," I whispered back.

The room quieted again. There was something comforting about having Maja nearby—maybe because she wasn't pretending to be strong. Not like the others.

Just then, footsteps. Heavy ones. Olga.

She walked toward us, her dark braid falling over one shoulder. She pulled a wooden stool from beneath a bunk and sat in front of us.

"How's everything going?" she asked, but her voice carried a calculated calmness. Like she was testing us.

I straightened. "How do you know so much about the mafia?"

Olga raised an eyebrow, a sly smile forming. "Why? Are you the cops?"

I narrowed my eyes. "Are you?"

Her grin widened before falling. "No. But I'm very interested in the mafia."

"You idolize them, don't you?" I pressed, leaning forward. "Took on a debt to be here. Just to get close to them."

She didn't deny it. Just gave a half-shrug. "I want power. That's what they have."

"You came here willingly," I said in disbelief. "Then you must have an escape plan."

Her smile turned cold. "Yes… or maybe."

"Why won't you just say the truth?"

"Truth doesn't exist here," Olga said simply, standing up.

"Then what does?" I asked.

She paused at the edge of the bunk, then turned slightly. "Tomorrow evening. After work. Same place."

And just like that, she disappeared into the darkness of the hallway.

Maja turned to me, her eyes reflecting the same storm swirling inside me.

"What the hell is she planning?" Maja whispered.