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You knew you shouldn't have trusted that Russian kid to look after the organization's database. His negligence and immaturity were evident, revealing himself as a prodigal brat with unrestricted access to the internet and an abundance of free time. Despite beating yourself up, the result was inescapable: you were screwed.
A single point of failure is an occurrence that, if it happens, compromises the entire system, and this boy was precisely that point. Thanks to an idiotic slip-up when doing a rollback on the main database, he had compromised all the hackers involved in the scheme, including you.
For years, you had been involved in an online human trafficking scheme, responsible for site security on the dark web. Now, everything you've built has crumbled in a matter of minutes, like sand running through your fingers.
With your forehead resting on the payphone and the phone in your hand, you listened to your superior's instructions. He said that there was no point in trying to flee the country, because all the borders were surrounded. It was best to cooperate with the FBI to minimize the penalty for good behavior.
You sighed heavily, accepting the probable next 10 years in a closed prison and voluntary work. As you bid your colleague a cordial farewell, you reflected on the years since you left high school, a journey that seemed so distant now, as if it belonged to another life.
In a way, the absence of the routine modulator in his voice brought a certain comfort. His humanity emerged, revealing fear and sadness during the call, an antithesis to the imponence and implacability that his dark web nickname suggested. With your forehead still in the phone booth, you let the phone slip from your hand, trying to organize your thoughts in the midst of the chaos that your life has become.
You felt numb, empty. Looking at your wristwatch, you calculated approximately two hours before you would probably be dragged off to the Federal Police box, a countdown to the inevitable.
As you left the cabin, snowflakes fell on your head and the smell of wet earth invaded your nostrils. Walking along the empty road, you absorbed the morbid beauty around you, aware that this would be your last chance to appreciate life before the doors closed.
The street was plunged into darkness, only the dim light of the fluorescent streetlamps and the rustle of pine leaves breaking the silence. You tried to remember when this city seemed sunny and happy, but the memories were hazy, as if death itself hung over the city in the form of fog.
When you arrived at the corner grocery store where you regularly shopped, you wandered the aisles like a lost soul. The dim light soothed your tired eyes, revealing the nights you spent awake in front of the computer. Your leather boots creaked as you stopped at the wine aisle, choosing a Frenchman to accompany your last meal in freedom. As you added the ingredients to make spaghetti, you turned to the cashier.
"What have we got here? No frozen lasagna today?" The lady at the checkout, with whom you've made friends over the years, noticed the change in your routine.
"Today is a special day, Mrs. Miller," you said, forcing a smile as you looked at the poster on the wall.
The poster announced the disappearance of Mrs. Miller's daughter, a 25-year-old medical student with beautiful blue eyes. A modest reward was offered for any information, but you knew that this story had a tragic ending, a dark piece in the puzzle of your own downfall.
"Any news about your daughter?" You asked with feigned concern, as if you weren't the one who had put together the complete physical description of the young woman last month, cataloging her as a product for online criminals.
And she was sold faster than expected.
The lady's eyes filled with sadness as she remembered her daughter who had been missing for more than three weeks, a pain that you knew all too well, a pain that you yourself had caused so many other people.
But you didn't feel remorse or pain for what you'd done, you felt amusement .
"No, dear. No word from the cops, no call." she said, her uneven voice revealing a mother's pain at losing her most precious possession.
"Don't worry, they'll find her," you said, offering false hope, knowing that her daughter was continents away, being used as a bargaining chip in a dirty game you were taking part in.
The distraught mother smiled at you, a few tears escaping. She gently touched your arm in thanks.
"Thank you.. It means a lot to me." Her words echoed in your chest.
You accepted the thanks with a nod, swallowing the lump in your throat as you turned your back, leaving the grocery store before all your lies hung you up.
-
The pasta sauce bubbled in the pot as you smashed HDDs and SSDs with a sledgehammer, making the table shake with the blows. The familiar smell of food further stimulated your hunger as you busily tried to destroy any physical evidence that might increase your sentence.
You've erased files on servers, broken physical parts, made phone chips explode in the microwave and still had time to shower and put on more comfortable clothes for the possible hours of interrogation that will follow in the evening. With a heavy sigh from exhaustion, you drop the hammer on the dirty floor tile, causing it to crack slightly on impact.
Impatient and with little time left, you helped yourself to a generous portion of spaghetti, taking a seat on the old, torn leather sofa that creaked under your weight as you kicked the hundreds of newly-broken electronic parts over your feet.
You always hated your cheap old apartment, especially the old carpet in the living room and the fluorescent light that emitted a constant hum, but given the circumstances, it seemed cozier than usual. It was like a last hug before saying goodbye, or a last dip in the sea before leaving the beach. It felt nostalgic and melancholy.
You stretched out your bare feet on the wooden coffee table, messing up one or two rows of morphine that you had lined up earlier, forgotten. Morphine and other synthetic drugs numbed your mind, helping you deal with the reality of things.
Taking a last forkful of spaghetti, you heard heavy footsteps outside your apartment. The clink of the fork against the porcelain plate gave away your trembling hands as you waited for half a dozen armed policemen to break down your door. Rubbing your dark eyes through your eyeliner, you adjusted your posture on the old sofa, standing up straight with your legs crossed as you awaited your fate, but what followed shattered all your expectations.
Suddenly, an axe came through the front door like paper, smashing the lock.
You arched an eyebrow, shrinking further into the sofa, aware that this was not the standard FBI or Interpol method of break-in.
A powerful kick finished the job, opening your poor wooden door with a firm bang, as if the very tree from which that door originated was being broken. You recognized immediately that something was wrong; very wrong.
There weren't a dozen men armed with rifles shouting at you to surrender and rubbing an arrest warrant in your face. In fact, there was only one man; you could barely make out his features because of the dust emanating from the breached door and the strong light from the corridor behind him.
He was muscular, his large hands wrapped around the handle of his axe as he walked slowly towards you. Pushing away the dirty plate, still warm from the spaghetti you had eaten minutes ago, he sat down at the coffee table in front of you, towering over you due to his burly stature. His deputy's badge stood out against the black fabric of the hooded jacket he was wearing, engraved on a metal plate with the name of agent Simon 'Ghost' Riley.
Ghost rested the handle of the axe on his thigh, while he waited patiently for you to react.
Still trembling and with a defeated look on your face, you stretched out your wrists towards him, hoping to feel the icy sensation of the handcuffs against your skin. Arching an eyebrow, confused when he made you lower your hands back onto the sofa.
"You're here for the arrest warrant, aren't you?" Gathering all your remaining courage, you asked, feeling intimidated by the man.
Simon didn't answer, just grunted and adjusted his posture. You were confused.
"Just haul me to the cop shop and let's get this over with." Crossing your arms in defeat, you lowered your head. You had already resigned yourself to defeat, even imagining that your skin tone would match perfectly with the pumpkin orange of your prison uniform.
He leaned towards you, his deputy's badge dangling in the air between the two of you. A devilish grin under his balaclava creased his eyes. Sirens echoed in your alert mind.
"Oh, love. . . I thought you were smarter," said Simon in a voice hoarse from disuse, his British accent striking.
Suddenly, the realization hit you like a train, making you press your back harder against the padded backrest of the sofa, trying to get away from him.
"N-no, it can't be." Your voice faltered and your eyes widened as you pressed yourself against the furniture, trying to distance yourself from the delegate.
Reviewing all the events so far, you wondered how you could have been so naïve. Your arrest was certain; you had read the newspaper article revealing the identity of your companions, and you were surely next in line for a cage. However, this supposed deputy showed up alone and unarmed, with only his badge and clothes that were too casual for the situation. Your mind was spinning, trying to connect the dots.
"I-I don't understand. My buddies - the cops- they've got me! The police got me!" You said in a sullen voice as you pointed at his badge, praying that this mysterious man would shove you into a police car and take you to where you were supposed to be.
You knew better than anyone that some fates could be worse than death.
Ghost let out a hoarse laugh, his fingers closing tightly around the handle of the axe still on the ground.
"No, y/n -" His eyes twinkled and you were sure there was a smile under the balaclava. "- I got you."
Oh, shit .
Yes, that was it.
He was a militia man, a corrupt cop. It was as obvious as a Trojan horse, Malware.
He wasn't here because he was instructed to arrest you.
He was here because he bought you.
You thought God had a funny sense of humor for making you fall victim to the same evil you caused other people.
In a panic, you crawled behind the sofa.
"Get away from me! Get back!" You cowered against the moss-green wall of your old apartment, feeling the paint peeling off your back.
Ghost stood up, kicking the sofa as if it were nothing, pushing it out of the way between the two of you. He advanced slowly towards you as the axe dragged across the floor, the dim fluorescent light of the apartment flashing intermittently. His expression remained indifferent to your protests.
"No - No!" you sighed heavily, turning away from the man who was twice your size, almost tripping over the computer parts as you ran into the kitchen.
Your hands fumbled in the knife drawer, causing you to topple over along with all the cutlery as you tried to hold the knife. A gasp filled the room, accompanied by heavy footsteps and the sound of the axe being dragged across the linoleum.
With the knife in your hands, a strangled cry escaped your lips as you saw Ghost appear in the kitchen doorway. His balaclava emblazoned with a skull made the scene even more macabre, turning your insides upside down.
"Get away from me!" You shouted in a hoarse voice, running to your room and locking the door behind you.
Desperately, you made your way to the jammed bedroom window, trying to open it as adrenaline pulsed through your body.
"Come on, hon. You're past the age for throwing tantrums." He said from the other side of the door, only the shadows of his feet visible through the bottom crack.
Losing patience, he continued.
"I'll count to three." The meek tone of his voice made you even more frightened, wondering if every psychopath you trafficked people for was the same way.
"One. . ."
Your movements against the sash window became more desperate and frantic as you tried to unlock the rail.
"Two. . ."
"Open it – Bloody hell! Just open!" You said to yourself, as the window fogged up due to the heavy storm outside.
Giving up trying to open it because of the urgency, you ripped one of the drawers out of the bedside table and threw it against the window, causing it to shatter into pieces. Glass fragments scattered across the bedroom floor; the scent of wet grass invaded your nostrils as the rain soaked the carpet.
"Three." The masked man's gloomy voice was interrupted by the sound of an axe breaking through the bedroom door.
You rushed to jump out of the window, groaning in pain as your feet were cut by the glass on the floor. The drop would be at least 3 meters, but the soft earth, surrounded by bushes, would be your destination when you hit the ground.
As you slipped a leg through the lower transom of the window, your dream of freedom was brutally snatched away by a strong hand on the back of your neck, pulling you back into the room. You struggled as he dragged you like a rag doll across the room, away from the window. It felt like falling from heaven straight into hell, as you watched the gates of paradise disappear into the horizon.
Removing his hand from the back of your neck, he pulled you by the arm, throwing you onto your messy bed.
"Cut it out - let me go! Let go of me!" You struggled in his grip, kicking the wind as the cuts on your feet throbbed with pain. Your voice was broken and your throat was as dry as if you were about to cry.
"Shh... calm down." Your arms were held above your head while he immobilized your legs with his knee. "It's all right. I won't hurt you if you calm down." He said in a tender voice, as if he were trying to calm a child with a scraped knee.
Simon tied your wrists tightly together with a sock he found lying next to the bed. Even with your last strength, you tried to pull away from his touch, starting to cry audibly. He winked at you, clucking his tongue as he stared at you with tired eyes from under the mask.
"Don't cry. C'mon." He said, putting you down on the bed as he hugged you. His strong arms wrapped around your whole body, pressing your head against his chest and stroking your scalp with his fingers. "Don't cry, babe."
A few tears and snot stained your face as the struggle ceased, finally allowing yourself to relax against the deputy's chest, sobs coming out of your throat. He pulled away just enough to be able to look at your face, caressing it with one hand.
"Please let me go. I don't know how much they offered you, but I'll double it. Please, just-" You were silenced with an index finger to your lips.
"Not a word more of resistance-" His voice was thick and authoritative, with an accented British accent. " - do you understand?" The question came out as a whisper, as if the walls had ears and what you were doing was a secret.
"No..." You whispered, your voice threatening to break again from crying.
"Do you understand?" He sounded more impatient now, although he tried hard to keep his tone gentle.
You just nodded, feeling his hand reach down to caress your lower back under your pants. Silence remained in the room as he rested his cheek on the top of your head, inhaling deeply of the sweet smell of your shampoo.
"I don't get it, how could a smart girl like you agree to let some kid run the database?" He said into your ear, running his hands down the side of your body. "It was like you were beggin’ to be caught, love. Begging me to find you." Ghost undid your belt in one fluid, practiced movement.
Laying you back on the bed, he slowly pulled your pants down, taking care not to pull the fabric over your bruised feet. He knelt on the bed between your legs, the fabric of the jeans suddenly seeming too tight around his muscular thighs.
"That's what you wanted. .wasn't it? 'be found by me?" He grabbed you firmly by the hips pulling you closer as your bare legs were spread around him. "You needed me to rescue you from this loneliness, didn't you?"
Simon's hands roamed over your body, reaching your breasts under the white T-shirt, squeezing and massaging them as if they were an anti-stress toy.
His eyes were glazed over your body, watching you as if you were the most sublime work of art.
"If you only knew how long I've wanted to touch you-" His calloused fingers brushed your nipple, making you sigh deeply. "-how many times I've touched myself in the precinct office like a damn teenager thinking about fucking your mouth."
"Mnn." You looked down to see the bulge of his hand under your bra. His hands were big and warm against your skin, making your nipples stiffen and your legs tighten around his waist.
"You've ruined many people's lives, do you realize that, young lady?" He said, his voice laced with excitement. Spreading your legs wider, slipping one of them over his shoulder, he continued. "What's it like being in the spotlight now instead of watching from the sidelines, huh?" His hips began to roll against yours, clothed dick rubbing against your panties.
You'd always had virginal fantasies about what it would feel like to be deflowered, but all those ideas dissipated like gray matter porridge through your ears the moment Ghost started touching you.
The rough texture of the jeans sent electric shocks throughout your body, mixing with the adrenaline rush of the novelty of having a man touch you for the first time. first time.
"Oh – oh ." Your thoughts were foggy as your eyes blinked in the greenish light of your musty room.
Your body arched against him, betraying your own rationality. Your bound hands went up to your face to try and clean up the disgusting mess on your cheeks. Your makeup was smeared and your hair disheveled against the pillow, while shy moans escaped your lips, capturing the masked man's attention.
"Are you that sensitive?" He whispered, as if lost in his own thoughts, while his curious hands explored your body. You met the deputy's eyes, drunk with lust, as he realized how responsive you were.
Simon's hand went down from your breast to the waistband of your panties, threatening to enter when his hand went up again, giving your waist a firm squeeze.
He wanted to bury his cock deep inside you;
It was clear from the strength with which he squeezed your hips, as if he was holding back so as not to be too reckless.
"When was the last time you got laid?" Simon asked with his brown eyes piercing yours, trying to examine any trace of a lie.
Your sensitivity could be explained by an involuntary celibacy, he thought.
"I - I never..." You couldn't finish the sentence for shame, turning your face sideways to stare at the shattered window of your previous escape attempt.
It was so absurdly obvious. You've spent your whole life locked in a room, developing malware and slashing your wrists - you know, like a prodigy with a disturbed head. The answer to his question was so obvious that you took it as an insult.
His smile grew beneath his mask and he sighed heavily, squeezing your thigh even tighter.
"Holy shit, you're a virgin." He growled, leaning over you making the cheap bed creak. "My little doll, do you realize how rare that is?"
The man's sadistic satisfaction overflowed through the tone of his voice. Finding you would be enough, but finding someone like you, still a virgin? Untouched? Sealed? It was as if lightning had struck twice in the same place.
It would certainly ruin you.
His hands went back down to your clothed pussy, rubbing his finger between your lips and making you arch against the mattress.
"So nobody's ever made you this wet, girl?" His thumb traced circles on your clitoris over the damp fabric of your panties while his other hand held your legs wide open.
You shook your head negatively as you moaned, biting your lower lip. You cursed the way his hand felt better than yours the times you tried to touch yourself.
His eyes remained fixed on your face as he pushed your panties aside, rubbing you with his middle and ring finger.
"Simon -" you let out as he played you like a fucking instrument.
Removing his hands from you, the sound of the metal buckle was heard as Ghost undid the belt, then the fly. You propped yourself up on one elbow, your tired eyes darkened by smudged eyeliner watching his movements with curiosity, sucking in how the veins in your arm popped as he undid the fly of his jeans.
You fall back on the bed, breathing in the heavy air of the room as you stare at the ceiling, just taking whatever he offers.
Simon holds his cock, giving it a few strong pulls before placing it between your legs, causing pre-cum to drip onto your damp panties. He was big, and you had to stop yourself from drooling at the sight.
Surely the cheap wine mixed with fear had broken some internal circuit in your brain, because you were enjoying this much more than you should have.
He was a handsome man, with a sculpted body, and he was on his knees in your bed, literally dripping with desire for you. You had to summon up all the sanity you had left not to attack him like a slut.
Christ, you were sick.
Still holding your legs with one hand, he began to fuck your thighs while rubbing the length of his penis against your clothed intimacy. You were embarrassingly wet at the obscene sight, knowing that he could feel the cream seeping through your panties by the way he squeezed your waist tighter.
Fuck... That was a thousand times better than morphine or any of the other crappy drugs you injected yourself with to escape trouble.
"Oh, God." You threw your head back, rolled your eyes, and instinctively rubbed against Simon too. Your bound wrists gripped the fabric of his T-shirt, pulling him closer.
"So needy, aren't you?" Ghost teased in a low voice, feeling how soft your thighs felt around his cock.
Simon knew you wanted to touch him by the way your trembling little hands tugged at the hem of his t-shirt, trying to bring him down next to you. He knew that if he reversed positions and put you on top, you'd fuck him like a whore, forgetting all the previous idiocy of running away from the inevitable.
Simon moaned softly in a hoarse voice as he held himself back from tearing your panties and sinking into you, tearing your virginity. He was looking forward to it, but this was neither the time nor the place.
Not today, sweetheart.
Fuck, not today.
"You really wanna kick me out still, darlin'? Spit it out, c'mon." Pre-cum dripped onto your belly as you felt your panties come off due to the force with which he thrust into your thighs, almost like a dog in heat. Purple bruises in the shape of his fingers formed on the side of your hip.
Of course, you would have answered his rhetorical question if the bastard hadn't pushed your panties aside, rubbing the head of his cock directly against your clit, shredding your thoughts.
His left hand went straight up from your waist to your neck, wrapping around it easily as he superficially smothered you. You saw stars, feeling yourself drowning in pleasure.
"I fuckin’ asked you a question." His voice was authoritative as he leaned over you, making you look at him.
The best you could do was mumble a few nonsensical things while your legs trembled. His badge dangled between the two of you from its position, reflecting the lights in the room.
Simon's domination of your body made your blood boil, making you orgasm as if it were his own.
"Yes, princess. Cum for me." A needy whisper came from his lips. Fixing his balaclava, another hoarse moan escaped.
Your vision went blank as you climaxed with trembling hips, held in place by the strong grip around your waist again. You've obviously had orgasms before on your own, but you learned quickly that coming with a real dick between your thighs was certainly something.
It didn't take long for him to come too, making a point of spreading his seed on the outside of your intimate area, making it run down your thighs.
The smell of sex and pheromones hung in the air, both of you trying to regulate your breathing. He put your panties back in place, making sure his cum stayed where he put it and then got out of bed, tidying up his own clothes while you remained sprawled on the old mattress, feeling like a pathetic, sticky mess.
His fingers opened your lips and forced a pill between them.
"Be a good girl and consume this." He pushed the pill under your tongue as it began to dissolve, the bitter taste spreading through your mouth. Ghost pulled away again.
You turned sideways on the mattress, allowing yourself to close your eyes as you tried to recover from the intense rush of dopamine you had just experienced from the orgasm. Somehow, this made you temporarily forget the unfortunate situation you were in, granting you a brief moment of peace as you felt the rough texture of the pillowcase against your cheek.
"You'll love the place I've prepared for you." Simon's voice sounded distant to your lethargic brain.
An old, empty backpack of yours was thrown to the floor as you closed your eyes, seeking refuge in the darkness. Inside it, some of your clothes were lazily tossed, along with specific belongings that the man considered essential.
It all came as an unexpected blow to the deputy, who had only planned to solve yet another landmark case in his career. But, hell, as soon as he saw your photo for the first time on the investigative board, he decided that this couldn't happen.
Buying you wasn't a difficult task; it was enough to bribe one or two hackers from the team and falsify some documents. In the official reports, you had been dead for more than four days.
Never again would you have to drag yourself around dirty apartments like this, earning crumbs from international cybercrime. Ghost would take such good care of you, rewarding you every time you behaved cooperatively. He would comb your hair, cut your nails and bandage your bruised feet. God, you'd become a damn spoiled brat so quickly with him. But that would happen in the long run, to have access to the princess treatment, you would have to be tamed first.
Acquiring you had a double benefit: a prodigal mind for him to take advantage of, with a hot hole for him to pour his own seed into. He'd have to be so rude to you until you learned the rules, maybe leave you without food if you broke any rules, who knows. But that would be necessary until you learned your place.
Maybe he got too emotional on your first date, he was too generous, he even thought about making you come. What happened in your apartment was a little preview of your future life with him if you behaved.
The masked man smiled as he took out a red velvet dress from your closet, wondering how it would match with the metal handcuffs that awaited you in the place he had prepared.
"You'll love England, love." He rambled on, tying your feet together after dressing you again in your jeans and then gagging your mouth.
After tying your legs together, he disappeared for a few minutes, only to reappear with a gallon of gasoline. As the golden liquid cascaded through the apartment, the strong aroma soon left you dazed, while Ghost whistled nonchalantly.
Picking up your backpack and the axe, he walked over to you on the bed, throwing you over his shoulder with a strong arm as he left the apartment, the flames beginning to consume the entire structure you once called home.
As you walked down the corridor of your floor, you noticed that the three apartments next to yours were broken into, some displaying dried blood stains on the walls. Ghost took care to murder all the neighbors in the adjacent apartments before breaching your door, making sure you wouldn't be interrupted. As careful as he was cruel.
He carried you down the dark street like a bride, until he reached a waiting black van. The asphalt, wet from the previous rain, reflected the weak greenish light from the streetlamps, almost burning your retinas as you gradually lost consciousness. The drug Ghost had forced you to swallow was taking effect.
You rested your head on the deputy's chest allowing yourself to rest.
There was no longer any doubt ;
Karma had finally caught up with you.