The white van was heavily tinted, and the securities were exceptionally strict and tight.

It was her first time to be taken into this specific type of vehicle, and the rumored horrors attached to it were starting to get under her skin.

The sliver of hope that once lit her vision of time ahead ploddingly disappeared from her sight.

She had never imagined that her first mind-numbing experience was born to be something like this. It was something which could not be simply described with our habitual words.

Once you had gotten over hell, once you were able to pick yourself up, you would have typically thought that those previous encounters were now a thing of the past—dead and buried, over and done with.

She saw a few novels that had delineated almost the same thing, and being a reader, being able to distinguish your next course of action was effortless. It was as if she was given an unmitigated control of vision. She could see all of the characters’ choices in a wider perspective.

Having that control could grant you the title of being all-knowing, as if you stood above among the others.

Most of all, the inevitable notion of having to compare something fictional to your own self would be self-satisfying.

Although, no one would tell us it was misleading in all forms, too. She thought she knew better—that if anything bad happened to her, she would be able to lucidly scroll down the choices presented right before her eyes, just like when she was reading.

She was clearly mistaken for even thinking that she would be having multiple options to select from.

Being in a situation that she had a past knowledge with, doing this was definitely hard.

She had watched people getting kidnapped, she had read people getting nervous, being unable to focus on the occurrences at hand.

She was wrong to put the blame on them for not being able to think carefully and effectively. The whole thing was absolutely different in person.

She felt lightheaded, as if she was gradually falling off the right track, drowning in the sea of menace that only this world had to offer.

Revolution Templonuevo.

She was certain that she had heard that name before. Fighting her way to regain complete consciousness had been a difficult task since the beginning, especially if her body wished to fully shut off.

The only edge that she had with her was the strong will to determine who the man was.

She could not go wrong this time, or else, she would totally lose her chance for a redemption. How did it result to this anyway?

Oh, yes.

That one was easy.

She had been shot in the arm. It all happened too fast that she was not able to feel the pain right away.

Someone did not hesitate to shoot her because the man’s order was their law.

That, she realized, too.

Revolution Templonuevo was too long for a name. He should have an alias at least. His name sounded callous, and she would hate to admit that it exquisitely complemented the fierce look he was sporting on his face.

His dark, malicious gaze fixated on her did not, in the slightest bit, falter, when the raging bullet pierced through her skin, penetrating the tissues with a hot, searing pain.

He was right there—in front of her, his eyes obnoxious and calculative, watching her reaction—her expression to contort into one of shock and agony.

Was this his way of gauging her?

The blow which had entered her being was mentally and emotionally bruising. She found it way worse than the physical pain inflicted onto her. Bryon’s jaw clenched, and something had crossed his eyes before he looked away from her, his hands balling into fists.

If he was not going to use his handgun, did that mean that the man who was exuding a very powerful aura was the prime mover?

She should have known better, right?

How long had it been since she was taken into their custody?

She would not even want to remember how it all started, and what had happened in that length of time.

The proper question would be, how long would it take for her to grow accustomed of their nature and duties? She could not help, but feel sad because she had set her expectations really high. She told herself that it was not too late for Bryon to change his path.

He had been nothing, but nice toward her, and she was wondering if it was all an act or not. For someone who admitted he was a felon, he sure was gentle and awkward.

She had high hopes for him.

“Look at what you have done, Markins,” Revolution said tauntingly. “Watch her fall apart.”

When Bryon listened to his command without showing any hesitation, Daphne knew she lost her own battle.

A sad smile appeared on her lips, despite the wince threatening to etch across her face.

“I-I thought we could be friends…” she managed to whisper, choking on a little sob.

She felt it before she saw it.

Revolution’s anger.

He was fuming mad, his nostrils flaring as soon as she uttered those words. Her vision started to blur everything else when she fell down, her right arm taking the full blow of the fall. She closed her eyes, and moaned in pain.

Small cries of agony echoed throughout the resort, and enveloped the vacant skies.

She could not bring herself to open her eyes through the pain.

Her arm felt as though it was being forcefully torn apart, the throb indescribable. It was her right arm which got shot. It was her right arm which shouldered her weight. She might have let out an audible gasp—several times, while trying basically anything that could dwindle her discomfort.

Heavy breathing…

Which was not coming from her.

Was it Bryon’s?

Or Revolution’s?

Daphne could not tell them apart anymore.

“Why do look remorseful, Bryon? It is not like you,” another voice spoke.

Another man hummed his agreement. “What kind of promises have you been feeding the poor girl? You have clearly forgotten your role in the biz.”

“Cat got your tongue?”

“You are not my superior, hence, I find no reason to respond to you,” was Bryon’s rigid response.

He was really ill-tempered, then. She wanted to smile.

“Throw her into the van, Tal.”

“You are not my boss, Lud, but sure.”

Voices…

Those were voices she had not heard before.

“I am going.” It was that voice of authority once again. She felt her skin prickle up in heated goosebumps.

“Do you have any final order to issue for today, Sir?”

“I believe that my job here is done, Talon. You are in-charge of these activities. Do whatever you want.”

“Copy, Sir.”

“Come with me, Markins. I believe you owe me an answer.”