Vongola Kids and the Kidnapping Plot Part One: Taken
Rating: T Summary: When the Vongola Kids are snatched right from their school, the Vongola family goes into an uproar. With no idea of what the kids are going through, it’s a frantic race to find them before the situation turns tragic. The kids, who don’t know when they’ll be rescued, stand strong in the face of the terrifying ordeal.
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The delivery truck was stationed outside the back entrance of Liceo Castelli with the trailer facing the doors. The engine rumbled loudly, sounding akin to distant thunder, but the occupants of the vehicle did not mind the excess of noise. Though it was risky, the first part of their plan required them to be in plain sight. It was odd, how the human brain worked—most paid little attention to what was directly in front of them.
Two broad-shouldered men in jeans, jackets with a company name emblazoned on the back, and matching caps unloaded crates from the trailer. A tall, thin man watched their progress, checking his watch every five minutes. It was almost time for the brats’ lunch period.
It had not been difficult to download a copy of their class schedules. They had sent in one of their men several weeks ago, undercover as an IT specialist, and he acquired the needed information. The Vongola kids had the same lunch break, and it became that much easier to plot out their abduction.
Aldo would never understand why Decimo and Xanxus allowed their charges to attend public school. Were they truly that arrogant in their beliefs that no one would dare come after them? Or did they really have faith in the security measures of this local high school?
No matter the reasons, they were fools. The four teens were ripe for the picking.
“Ready, Boss,” spoke Gavino, attaching the last crate to the hand truck.
“Good. Get inside and start working on the vending machine. I want it emptied by the time Bovino and the girl arrive.”
Gavino nodded. He and his companion, Roberto, started into the school, their fake key cards dangling from chains fastened to their belt loops. The wheels of the hand trucks groaned under the weight of the supply crates. When they disappeared through the doors, Aldo swept his gaze across the parking lot, ensuring they were still the only souls on the tarmac. He gripped the rope attached to the door, staring at the six men hunkered in the shadowed depths of the empty trailer.
“Remember to open this on my signal—not a second sooner,” he said curtly.
He shut the rolling door and left the truck running. He strode into the school, where teens were beginning to spill into the hallway, the last notes of the lunch bell rattling off the walls. The students didn’t spare Aldo a glance, and in turn he gave them no reason to, striding confidently down the hall with his own hand truck.
The illusionist didn’t like the lunch crowds. The sixteen-year-old lingered in his third-period class, waiting for the worst of the rush to die out. Aldo approached the classroom, where the clusters of students thinned out.
Aldo knocked once on the classroom door before rolling in the hand truck. He glanced at the empty desk before turning towards the lone occupant of the room. “Is this Mrs. Vecoli’s room?”
The teal-haired teen did not look up from his phone. “It’s her name on the door, isn’t it?”
“I didn’t notice,” replied Aldo, starting to unload the crate.
“Kind of makes you a poor delivery man then, doesn’t it?” Fran finally glanced up; green eyes bored. “Deliveries usually go through the main office.”
“I checked in there first, so perhaps I’m not such a poor employee,” said Aldo lightly. “They ordered a new set of beakers for the science lab and preferred I be the one who brought them here.”
“Not exactly the smartest idea, leaving an unattended crate in an empty classroom in a school full of irresponsible teenagers.”
“I’ve been instructed to tell the secretary when I’m finished. She’ll send someone up to lock the door.”
He set the crate near the desk, aware of the illusionist’s eyes trained on his every move. Though Aldo was pointedly keeping every word and motion unthreatening and casual, the illusionist still sensed that something was not quite right.
With narrowed eyes, the teen stood and swept to the front of the room. He pried open the lid of the crate, only to find that there was nothing inside. He caught Aldo moving out of the corner of his eye and started to shift, but Aldo needed only a millisecond. He unclipped the pen from his front pocket and jabbed the drug-filled tip in Fran’s right shoulder.
The Mist waves retracted as the boy was forced into a solid form. Green eyes rolled back into his head and Aldo caught him by the waist. Before the teen completely passed out, Aldo swiftly removed a thick black band from the inside of his jacket and snapped it over the illusionist’s thin wrist.
He turned to look quickly at the clock hanging over the classroom door—Bovino and the girl ought to have reached their usual vending machine by now.
He stuffed the illusionist into the empty crate, removed his phone and secured the lid in place. He rolled the hand truck out into the hall, which was now devoid of students and teachers. He picked up the pace, wheeling the crate to the nearest exit and bursting out into the afternoon sunlight. Students were lounging on picnic tables and the lush green grass of the campus, so he slowed his gait, not wanting to seem hurried.
He looped around to the back entrance and re-entered the building. This portion of the school was vacant, for it housed only lockers and one vending machine, and the school actively discouraged students from eating their lunches in the corridors. Aldo took the teen’s cell phone out of his pocket and began to field the incoming text messages.
Halfway across the school, I-Pin immediately registered that Fran’s emotions were suddenly no longer available to her. Furrowing her brow, she glanced at Lambo and asked, “Did you feel that?”
She didn’t need to clarify. Lambo nodded. “Yeah. Kinda weird, isn’t it? We’ve never felt the moment someone blocks off their emotions before.”
“I don’t know if that’s what this is,” said I-Pin worriedly.
“Well, it’s not a bad feeling, so I don’t think something’s wrong. It’s just…different.”
Not at all appeased, I-Pin whipped out her phone and fired off a text. She received an answer a minute later.
‘Yeah, why wouldn’t I be okay?’
“See, he’s fine,” said Lambo, reading the text over I-Pin’s shoulder.
“But something doesn’t feel right,” she said anxiously.
“We’ll talk to him when he joins us for lunch,” assured Lambo. They reached the vending machine and his face fell upon spotting two workers emptying it. “Aw, man!”
“Sorry, kid,” one of them said. “It’s going to be out of order for a bit. We still need to restock.”
“But it was full this morning,” said I-Pin in confusion.
“Some of the snacks expired,” he replied, cracking open a crate and removing a fresh package of chocolate bars. “The vending machine in the south hall, near the back exit, is up and running.”
“How about you just pass me one of those chocolate bars and I’ll be on my way?” suggested Lambo. He grunted when I-Pin elbowed him sharply in the side. “Or I can just use the other vending machine.”
They cut through the school and when they reached the back entrance, it was to see another delivery employee with a crate standing next to the vending machine. “Wait, is this one good or not?” asked Lambo in annoyance.
With a flick of his fingers, Aldo knocked off the lid. He grabbed the illusionist by the collar of his school shirt and dragged him partway out of the box. “I’d say not,” he said coolly.
Two sets of footsteps thundered behind the teens. Before I-Pin could whirl around, Aldo removed a gun from the inside of his jacket and pressed it against Fran’s temple. “Don’t even think about it.”
Lambo glared viciously at the imposters. “What do you want?” he snarled.
“From you? Absolutely nothing,” said Gavino harshly. He removed a black band from his jacket pocket and clasped it over Lambo’s wrist. “Get in the truck.”
I-Pin grit her teeth as a heavy band was secured over her own wrist. She could no longer feel Lambo’s emotions, and she now understood the reason for the strange disconnection from Fran. Whatever these bracelets were, they blocked off their bonds completely. “We’re not going anywhere with you,” she hissed.
Aldo raised a brow. “Do you want your friend to die?”
Lambo and I-Pin stared at Fran, who was limp in the grasp of his attacker, and Lambo whispered, “What did you do to him?”
“I drugged him. We will not tell you again. Get in the truck.”
I-Pin’s mind raced. She debated between screaming her lungs out and engaging the men in combat. But any thoughts of resistance dissolved when Aldo reared back and pistol-whipped Fran. Lambo shouted, but the sound was quickly cut off as Gavino’s fingers wrapped around his throat, squeezing hard.
Blood poured out of the gash in Fran’s head, running down his cheek and painting his pale flesh red. He lolled forwards, completely unresponsive, and tears burned in I-Pin’s eyes. Aldo cocked his gun threateningly.
“Okay,” said I-Pin, her voice measured even though her insides were cold with fear. “We’ll go.”
Gavino let go of Lambo. He and Roberto ushered the two teens out of the isolated section of the school, propelling them the short distance from the door to the delivery truck. Roberto rapped three times against the trailer door and Lambo’s heart plummeted when it rattled open, revealing half a dozen armed goons.
They were shoved inside. Aldo hefted the crate into the trailer and the two teens scrambled to get their arms around Fran, who flopped out of the crate like a rag doll. Aldo regarded them impassively. “Phones.”
Lambo and I-Pin obeyed, pulling their devices from their pockets and sliding them over to Aldo. He exited the trailer, clunking the door shut behind him. He typed out a brief text on Lambo’s phone and sent it off.
‘Fran vomited outside the back entrance. Can you come help?’
He turned off the phone, along with I-Pin and Fran’s, and dumped them down the nearest sewer drain. It was barely a minute later when their final target arrived, hurrying out the doors with a concerned expression. The teen’s senses were only average, and so it was nothing for Aldo to slam his elbow into Futa’s windpipe, rendering him immobile.
The last black bracelet was clamped over Futa’s wrist. Aldo stole his cell phone and lugged the wheezing eighteen-year-old to the trailer. Futa’s eyes were wide with panic as his blurred vision took in his surroundings—Lambo and I-Pin cradling an unconscious Fran, six muscular, gun-wielding men looming over them.
“What—?” he began to say, but a foot nailed against his side, taking away the little air Futa had left in his lungs.
“No talking,” snarled Roberto. “Don’t even think about making a move against us. We don’t need all of you alive.”
There was a lurch as the delivery truck started to roll. Futa crawled over to his siblings and cousin and huddled with them, smoothing his fingers against Fran’s neck. His breath shuddered out of him when he felt the slow but steady rhythm of the illusionist’s pulse.
In the darkness of the trailer, feeling sick with a combination of fear, uncertainty, and the motion of the delivery truck, Futa grasped the lone glimmer of light in their grim situation.
At least they were together.
…
The moment his access to Fran’s bond cut out, Tsuna didn’t need his Intuition to tell him that something was very wrong.
The brunette sprinted from his office, his feet carrying him through the corridors by memory alone. Tsuna focussed on the odd sensation, which felt like the faded crackling of static. No matter how hard he urged his Flames, he could not break through this sudden barrier.
He found Chrome and Mukuro in the library. Chrome was pacing anxiously between a set of bookshelves, stabbing at her phone. Mukuro braced his hands against a gleaming wooden table, his lips pressed together in a thin line.
“He’s not answering me.”
Chrome sent out her own telepathic summons. “Me either,” she said fretfully when she did not receive a reply.
“Did you text him?” asked Tsuna.
“Yes. He said he’s fine, that he just needs a bit of time to himself.” Chrome’s fingers clenched around her phone. “But this isn’t him blocking his emotions from us. And no matter what, no matter how he’s feeling, he always answers us when we contact him telepathically.”
“I’m calling Lambo,” said Mukuro.
He had just pulled his own phone out of his pocket when a strong burst of fear charged through them. In the next second, they could no longer feel Lambo and I-Pin’s emotions, their bonds filled with the same static sensation.
Tsuna took off running.
“Call our police squad!” he barked at Mukuro and Chrome over his shoulder. “I want the school locked down now!” When he burst into the front foyer, it was to see Hibari, Yamamoto, Gokudera and Ryohei waiting for him. “Takeshi, call the Varia. Hayato, you’re coming with me to the school. Kyoya and Onii-san, see if you can get a hold of the kids.”
Gokudera ran after Tsuna, his car keys already in hand. They leapt down the stone steps and sprinted across the driveway. By the time Gokudera’s car was speeding down the road, they could no longer feel Futa, and Gokudera cursed. Tsuna tried tracking the kids’ location through his phone, and his blood froze when he found their cell phones were no longer active.
They blew through red lights and stop signs, forcing other cars to slam on their brakes and swerve to avoid a collision. Gokudera screeched to a stop in Liceo Castelli’s parking lot, and it was half a second later when Xanxus’ truck roared up next to them.
“Voi! What the eff is going on?” demanded Squalo, flinging open the passenger door and nearly clipping Gokudera’s car.
“You know the same information we do,” said Gokudera tightly.
This was not comforting to any of them, since they had absolutely zero idea what was going on with their kids. They stormed for the school, which had several dozen Vongola officers surrounding the building. The force with which Xanxus opened the doors shattered the glass.
The hallways were empty, the student populace sheltering in place as the officers swept through the school. Tsuna strode into the office, burning amber eyes locking onto the principal, who fidgeted nervously behind the secretary’s desk. “Where are they?” he asked softly.
“They were most definitely here for morning classes,” spoke the principal. “Fran’s third-period classmates reported that he stayed behind once the lunch bell rang. Apparently, he’s always the last one to leave the room. No one saw him after that. A couple students said they saw Lambo and I-Pin by the vending machine near the cafeteria, but they’re not sure where they went after that.”
“What about Futa?” demanded Gokudera.
“He was in the cafeteria. Several students said he just suddenly dashed out.”
“I don’t give a damn where they were,” growled Xanxus. “I want to know where they are now.”
“I…I’m afraid I don’t know,” the principal admitted.
“We checked every classroom, every bathroom stall, every nook and cranny,” spoke the officer stationed near the office door. “I’m sorry, Sawada-san, but the kids are no longer on school property.”
There was a beat of icy silence. Xanxus’ rage easily overwhelmed Gokudera, Squalo and Tsuna’s anger. His scars expanded, stretching across his face, and the principal backed away in horror. Tsuna didn’t flinch when Xanxus heaved the secretary’s desk against the wall, wood and screws and plaster splintering in all directions.
“I want every second of security footage from the last couple of months,” Tsuna said to Gokudera.
“Yes, Juudaime.”
Though Gokudera’s expression was calm, his panic twisted through Tsuna’s chest. The brunette gave his wrist a brief, comforting squeeze. Gokudera went to collect the video feed, ducking to avoid being struck by a potted plant whipped blindly by Xanxus.
Tsuna felt as if his throat was closing up. For a moment, his vision blurred, his own emotions and those of his family too much to bear. Terror clawed at his chest, its phantom talons ripping at his very soul. He took a breath, inhaling deeply, and collected himself.
“I want this town searched from top to bottom,” he informed the officer, who ran off to relay the instruction to his superiors. “I’m going to call home,” Tsuna told Squalo. “Then I’m going to sit down with Mr. Salvatore, who is going to tell me the name of every single body that crossed through this school this morning.”
He would not give Squalo orders—it was not his place, and he would never make it his place. Xanxus would not be consumed by his fury for long, and he would give his men instructions when he was ready.
“Ah,” said Squalo with a curt nod. “I’ll call Levi.”
When Tsuna turned to leave the office, artificial fingers squeezed the back of his neck, a silent promise that, as always, they were in this together. The brunette gave Squalo a grateful smile before stepping into the hallway.
Xanxus’ rampage had already spilled into the main hall, and Tsuna went outside so that the high-pitched squeal of peeling metal would not interrupt him. He dialled Yamamoto’s number and his Rain answered immediately.
“They’re gone, aren’t they?” asked Yamamoto tightly.
“Yeah,” said Tsuna grimly. “Nobody knows where they went or who took them. They haven’t been gone long. They were in third period, and then they just vanished. The Vongola officers are going to coordinate a town-wide search operation.”
“Kyoya and Ryohei weren’t able to make contact with the kids. Their phones have been turned off.”
“I noticed that on the ride here.”
“I called Verde. He sent me a record of the kids’ last texts. I’ll forward them to you.”
“Thanks, Takeshi. Anything of note?”
“The most recent batch of texts from Fran’s phone definitely weren’t from him, given that they occurred right around when his bond was cut off from us. Same with Lambo’s last text—he told Futa that Fran was sick by the back entrance and that they needed help.”
“Witnesses saw Futa run out of the cafeteria just before he disappeared, so that must have been what that was about,” muttered Tsuna. Turning his chin slightly, he called out to the nearest officer, “I want every inch of the back entrance combed for evidence.”
As the officers scrambled to obey his order, Yamamoto said, “I’ll start calling the rest of our family.”
“Please. Until we have solid information, I want every nearby abandoned building searched, and I want any vehicle that looks like it’s been dumped investigated.”
“I’ll stay home, watch over the girls and be a point of contact.”
“Thank you, Takeshi. I’ll phone you back once I’m finished here. And, uh, I’ll call my father, so leave CEDEF to me.”
“You got it,” said Yamamoto softly. “We’re going to find them, Tsuna.”
“I know,” said Tsuna, and he meant it. When Yamamoto hung up, Tsuna phoned Iemitsu, and he couldn’t stop the tears that formed when his father asked, “What happened to my babies?”
“We don’t know, Dad. It seems like they just vanished within seconds. Our section of the police force is coordinating a town-wide search, but I want you and your team to check out any potential safehouses they might be taking the kids to.”
“We’re on it,” said Iemitsu immediately. “What will you be doing?”
“Hayato, Xanxus, Squalo and I are investigating the school. Takeshi is going to stay home to watch Haru-chan and Kyoko-chan, so if you need anything, phone him. You’ll most likely encounter the others if you’re searching abandoned buildings, because I told Takeshi to spread the word.”
“We’ll divide up our lists of known safehouses and send them out.”
“Thank you. That’ll be a big help.” A lump formed in his throat, and he said, “I’m scared, Dad.”
“I know, son. I am too,” said Iemitsu, his voice shaking, and Tsuna felt his father’s fear mingle with his own. “But that’s what those stronzos want. We are going to bring our kids back to us. Don’t give in to your fear, Tsuna.”
“I won’t. I’ll let you know if we find out anything on this end.”
“As will we. And Tsuna? Be careful.”
“You too, Dad,” said Tsuna softly.
When he entered the school, it was to see several banks of lockers ripped clean from the walls. Random papers smouldered on the floor and the office doors were hanging crookedly from their hinges. It was difficult, now, to separate the anger, fear and alarm coursing through him. But Xanxus’ fury, though still stinging, was no longer consuming. The man was standing amidst the wreckage with Squalo and Gokudera, and the three were speaking urgently. Xanxus’ scars had not receded, and Tsuna knew that would remain the case until the kids were found. He picked his way over twisted metal and chunks of plaster, and his stomach sunk at their somber gazes.
“What?”
Xanxus silently held out an evidence bag, which contained four sewage-encrusted cell phones. Tsuna stared at the familiar cell phone cases, and his fingers clenched into fists. “They were in the sewer?”
“They were dropped down the grate right next to curb,” said Squalo roughly.
“I’ve got the security footage, Juudaime,” said Gokudera, holding up a slim red memory drive.
“Then let’s effing look at it,” said Xanxus.
“I’m going to speak to Salvatore,” spoke Tsuna. “If you find anything, come get me.”
Gokudera, Xanxus and Squalo commandeered a computer lab. They hooked up the USB and, since most of the footage was of students and teachers going about their daily routines, fast-forwarded through the days. If the kids were on screen, or someone not associated with the school, Gokudera slowed the footage down.
“There!” said Squalo suddenly.
A short man of average height, wearing a pale blue dress shirt and slacks, strode through the front entrance. It was immediately apparent that this man knew exactly where each security camera was located, for he kept his face angled away from the lens in each shot.
Gokudera took several screenshots and printed them off. He watched the man tinker with the photocopier and then the secretary’s computer for several minutes. With his chin ducked down, his long brown hair fell over his face, concealing his features. The secretary left at one point, leaving him alone in the main office. He tapped away at the computer before turning to retrieve the papers he had just printed.
Gokudera paused the footage and took another screenshot, his jaw clenching. He would have to send it to Vongola Labs, where they would be able to blow up the image with their software.
Nothing else suspicious appeared until they reached the footage that was recorded just a few hours ago. The three men tensed when a large delivery truck rolled up to the back entrance, the trailer pointing directly at the doors. Three men in uniforms climbed out and loaded crates onto hand trucks.
Xanxus’ lips pulled back into a snarl as a tall, thin man entered the classroom Fran had last been seen in. It only took him a second to realize where exactly Fran was when the man walked back out with the same crate in his possession.
“He effing put my kid in an effing crate!”
One of the computers soared through the window. Squalo shoulders were hunched, his fingers cracking into the table. Gokudera let their anger wash over him, for he shared it in spades, and he shook with fury and horror as he numbly watched the man wheel Fran through the halls.
His heart jumped into his throat as I-Pin and Lambo approached the vending machine the two bulkier men were pretending to work on. They spoke briefly and the two teens went to the vending machine located near the back entrance, where the tall man was waiting.
Tsuna, lured by their fresh waves of panic and fury, arrived in time to see an unconscious Fran get whipped upside the head with the handle of a gun and a stranger’s fingers tighten around his little brother’s throat.
“Who are they?” whispered Tsuna, his Flame erupting within him, blazing against his forehead.
“We don’t know,” said Gokudera hoarsely. “They knew exactly where each camera was located. We don’t have a single shot of their face.”
The four could only watch as the men forced the teens outside and loaded them into the truck. Futa appeared in the footage only a minute later, and Gokudera crashed his fist through the monitor of the neighbouring computer when the thin man brought Futa to the ground with a crushing blow to his windpipe.
“Get all of this to Verde,” said Tsuna, his anger causing his Will to unfold and envelope the room. “Salvatore gave me the delivery form one of these bastards left behind. It’s obviously going to be forged, but they got that truck from somewhere.”
“We’ll find it,” said Xanxus.
Tsuna handed over the manilla folder that contained the faked paperwork and Gokudera retrieved the screenshot that clearly bore the truck’s license plate number. Squalo accepted them, allowing his fingers to tremble in their presence.
“What do you think they want?” he asked.
Tsuna gave a dark, humourless smile. “I don’t know what they want. But I know what they’re getting—a gruesome death.”
…
They were in the seventh vehicle of the day.
The delivery truck had been ditched only five minutes into the journey. Futa didn’t dare look at his watch, not when he was vastly outnumbered and their captors were prone to attacking them if they made the slightest of motions. But he recognized the grocery store that was the spot of their transfer. It was a few blocks away from Liceo Castelli.
The truck pulled up in front of a beige van, blocking it from view. The trailer door rattled open and Aldo crooked his finger. Futa gathered Fran into his arms and climbed out of the truck with Lambo and I-Pin close behind.
They were hustled to the van, but a glimpse of his surroundings was all Futa needed. The teens piled into the middle section of the van, the goons situating themselves in the back, and Aldo and Gavino taking the front.
The van drove for a little bit longer—two hours. Futa knew this thanks to the clear view he had of the dashboard’s digital clock. The van was left at a gas station on the edge of town and they were forced into a different van, this one bright green.
Futa could see I-Pin’s eyes rapidly flicking back and forth. They were both taking mental notes, filing away the makes and colours of each vehicle, and the details of the area in which the exchanges took place. The last switch was made in a tunnel below a section of the Autostrade. Futa chanced a glance behind him, and managed to see half of the goons remaining in the previous car before stars exploded in his vision as Gavino punched him right across the face.
Blood dripped from his nose and Futa absorbed it with his shirt, preventing any drops from splattering against Fran, who was cradled in his arms. I-Pin opened her mouth, but Futa shook his head, and she reluctantly remained quiet, glowering at Gavino with the utmost hatred.
The last vehicle was a limo, which Futa found to be odd, until the black divider slid up, concealing them from view. No toll operator would suspect anything amiss, and Futa dared not make a racket, not with several guns aimed at his family.
He strained his ears, listening intently to the small talk made between Aldo and the toll collector. Florence was mentioned, and Futa grimaced. They were getting to be quite a distance from home.
They arrived at their destination in the dead of night. Futa held Fran against his chest as he climbed out of the limo, his eyes taking several beats to adjust to the dark. He stared up at the three-story, brick and concrete factory with wide eyes. There was a symbol affixed to the side of the building, but Futa did not recognize the company.
“Move,” barked Roberto.
They crossed the parking lot and Aldo swiped a slim black card against the scanner on the side door. They were ushered through a set of cement corridors, dim emergency lights casting an eerie glow in the shadowed space.
Aldo threw open a steel door, revealing a narrow, rectangular room. There was a hatch embedded into the floor and Futa’s heart jumped into his throat. Aldo lifted up the hatch and turned to the teens. “Get in.”
Lambo went first. He expected there to be a ladder, or some stairs, but there was nothing. He pitched into the hole with a surprised cry. I-Pin was quick to go after him, and she called, “There aren’t any steps, Futa!”
Futa passed Fran through the hole to I-Pin before dropping down. He hurried over to Lambo, who had fresh tears on his cheeks, and was cradling his right arm. “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” Lambo hiccupped. “You?”
“Yeah, I’m good. I-Pin?”
“I’m okay,” she said softly. She checked Fran’s pulse. “I think Fran’s doing okay, too.”
There was the clanging of chains and Aldo eased into the space. The teens recoiled at the three sets of shackles he carried. “This isn’t necessary,” insisted Futa.
“Shut up,” said Aldo coldly. “Get on your knees.”
Four guns were aimed through the hatch, trigger fingers at the ready. Swallowing thickly, Futa slowly lowered to the hard ground. The heavy shackles were fastened around his wrists, cinching them tightly together and rendering them immobile. Lambo and I-Pin were restrained next, and the relief Futa felt over Fran remaining unshackled was immediately extinguished when Aldo pulled out a needle.
“No!” shouted Lambo, thrashing madly. “Leave him alone!”
Aldo kicked Lambo hard across the head, the metal hooks in his boots cutting through the boy’s skin. Blood spilled out of the wounds, matting Lambo’s hair, and he sobbed in pain. “Lambo!” shrieked I-Pin.
Boom!
The gunshot was deafening in the closed-in space. The kids flattened to the floor, driven by instinct, and the bullet lodged into the wall behind I-Pin. Aldo went over to the unconscious Fran and jerked up the sleeve of his school uniform. He viciously jabbed the needle into Fran’s arm, piercing the flesh violently, and Futa very nearly vomited.
“Any more sounds out of you, and the next bullet won’t miss,” said Aldo menacingly.
He twisted on his heel and pulled himself through the hole. The hatchet shut with a bang, drenching the teens in complete darkness. There was the sound of chains snapping into place, dragging heavy against the small door.
For a long while, the teens sat in silence, fearful of agitating their kidnappers. Finally, I-Pin’s keen hearing picked up the last of the men leaving, and she said, “They’re gone.”
Lambo promptly burst into tears, sobbing openly after a day of silent weeping. I-Pin immediately shuffled to his side, burying her nose into his neck. “We’re going to be okay, Lambo. Our family is going to find us.”
“I’m scared,” said Lambo brokenly.
“I know. I am too.”
As I-Pin comforted her best friend, Futa dragged himself across the cellar. He hovered over Fran, feeling against his neck and arms and chest. He was still breathing, the rise of his chest jerky and short, and his pulse had slowed. His fingers raked against something warm and wet, and bile burned sour in Futa’s throat when he realized it was blood oozing from Fran’s injection mark.
“Lambo, do you think you can calm down for a second?” Futa asked gently.
Lambo took a few gulping breaths, but managed to get control of his tears. “Uh-huh.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Sick, and my head is killing me,” said Lambo miserably.
“Did the blood stop?”
“I don’t know.”
I-Pin easily rose to her feet without the assistance of her hands. She rubbed her fingertips against Lambo’s wound. “I don’t feel any more blood coming out,” she informed.
“Good,” said Futa with a nod. “I think we rode in seven cars.”
“Yeah, that’s right,” said I-Pin, wiping her trembling, blood-soaked fingers against her skirt. “I got the makes and colours of each one.”
“Me too.”
Lambo felt a rush of guilt and self-disgust, for while his siblings had been clocking the details of their abduction, he had been crying uselessly. “All I did was blubber like a baby the whole time,” he said bitterly.
“Hey,” said Futa firmly. “We were snatched from school, roughed up, and taken away from our family, with no knowledge of what’s going to happen to us. Of course you cried, Lambo. I’m barely holding it together right now.” His voice hitched, and he paused for a minute to blink back his tears. “But we have to be strong, Lambo. It’s okay that you weren’t paying attention before, but you can’t beat yourself up over it. If we’re going to get out of here, we can’t let them get to us. Okay?”
“Okay,” whispered Lambo. “How’s Fran?”
“He’s alive.” Futa stroked Fran’s cheek and sighed heavily. “But it’s clear that they’re not going to let him regain consciousness.”
“But if they keep drugging him, he’s going to lose his ability to create illusions,” said I-Pin fearfully.
“Yeah, most likely. But you know what? I’d rather have an alive Fran than an illusionist Fran, and I know the Varia would, too.”
“What do we do?” asked Lambo.
Futa pursed his lips. “For now, we do what they say. I don’t know why, but they’re hiding us in a factory that’s still operating. Nothing about this place screams abandoned.”
“But why would they keep us somewhere so open?” asked I-Pin in confusion.
“Most likely to make it harder for Tsu-nii and the others to find us,” muttered Futa. “Or maybe whoever owns this factory is in on the plot too. There are too many unanswered questions, and we can’t barge out of here not knowing what’s waiting on the other side. Especially since we don’t have access to our Flames.”
“I could try getting it off,” offered I-Pin. “I can shed these shackles in a second.”
“Not now,” decided Futa. “We’re going to play the waiting game, so long as it’s safe to do so. They went to a lot of effort to get all of us here. Despite what that man said, about not needing all of us alive, I think he was bluffing. If he didn’t need Fran, he wouldn’t have gone to all the trouble of incapacitating him.”
“What do you think he wants?” asked Lambo nervously.
“Nothing from us. That, I believe.” Anxiety swelled in Futa’s gut, twisting in painful knots, and he took a few, deep breaths to combat the rising fear. “Try to get some sleep, you two. I’m going watch over Fran.”
“If you get tired, wake one of us up,” spoke I-Pin. “We’ll take over so you can get some rest.”
There was the shuffling of chains against the cement floor as I-Pin huddled closer to Lambo. Futa listened to their soft, quivering breaths, and vowed that, as the oldest brother, the oldest cousin, he would not let them die in this horrid place.
