The path to the mine grew narrower the further we ventured, as if the mountain were clamping its rocky jaws shut to choke our final breaths. We weren't just a group of men; we were the wreckage of fathers whose hearts had been scorched by despair. We were accompanied by that journalist, who gripped his pen as if it were a dagger, his eyes never ceasing to scan the surroundings with the sharpness of a radar hunting for prey. We were tracking the scent of death over jagged ground, and the darkness around us wasn't merely an absence of light—it was a black beast lying in wait in every corner.
The gold owned by that organization did not tempt us; even if they poured tons of the yellow metal into our palms, it wouldn't equal the price of a single tear from our daughters' eyes. The government had abandoned us, and our names had been struck from the ledgers of protection, so we decided that night to be both the law and the crime at once.
Suddenly, a faint light glimmered at the end of the passage. Two guards in faded clothes stood there, idly flicking the safety catches of their weapons on and off with lethal boredom. Farid—who hadn't tasted sleep for a week—couldn't restrain himself. He rushed forward in a mad silence before exploding with a hoarse scream:
— "Where is my daughter? I swear I will burn this mountain over your heads if you don't speak!"
The first guard turned with terrifying slowness. He said nothing; instead, he raised his pistol and, with a mechanical movement devoid of a single shred of humanity, pulled the trigger. (BANG!) The roar of the bullet in the tunnel was like an earthquake that shook our very souls. Farid's body froze for a moment, then he collapsed to his knees before his face hit the mud.
The guard spat on the ground and called out loudly:
— "Servants! Carry this carcass away... the dogs in the back pen have been hungry for two days. Feed him to them."
His colleague rubbed his eyes sleepily and muttered: "Damn it... when will this cursed shift end? My head is about to split."
The killer replied coldly, holstering his gun: "Two hours... then we go for a beer. Hang in there, man. Every now and then, one of these rats loses his way and ends up here; we kill him and throw him to the dogs. I'm getting sick of this routine. What do you think about a vacation soon?"
We were in a state of shock; the smell of gunpowder mixed with Farid's blood made us nauseous. But the journalist grabbed us firmly behind a massive boulder and hissed like a snake:
— "If you give in to the shock, you are digging your daughters' graves right now. We won't enter by force... but by distraction."
One of the fathers stepped out, stripped off his jacket, and began moving in front of the guards with hysterical gestures, dancing and swaying his body as if he had lost his mind, singing in a cracked, broken voice. The guards were stunned, and one laughed mockingly: "Look! It seems one of the rats has lost his mind from fear!"
In that second, when their guard dropped, the journalist and James sprang from behind them like lightning. James smashed the back of the first guard's head with his iron fist, while the journalist strangled the other until he lost consciousness. We seized the weapons and pushed deeper into the rocky bowels of the mine.
In the heart of the mine, the space opened up to reveal a luxurious wooden house built inside a vast cavern—a sick joke in such a filthy place. The journalist crept forward, but as his fingers touched the doorknob... the door swung open!
Searchlights blinded us, and dozens of muzzles were aimed at our chests. The captain of the guard—a man with sunken cheeks and dead eyes—stepped forward and said mockingly:
— "Drop your weapons. The ground is covered with hidden sensors, and our snipers outside are monitoring your every breath, relaying every movement to us via Morse code. You are completely exposed."
From behind him stepped a young man wearing a blue velvet suit, wiping his hands with a scented handkerchief as if he had just stepped out of an opera. It was Julian Mortimer. He looked at us with disgust and said:
— "My God... the stench of poverty reeks from you! Are you the ones who dared to ruin my nap?"
James, with tears boiling in his eyes, screamed: "We are the fathers, Mortimer! Where are our daughters?"
Julian didn't answer; instead, he signaled to a guard who kicked James in the stomach, dropping him to the ground gasping for air. Julian said coldly: "Stay in your place, you insect. You are in the presence of a nobleman."
He turned to the journalist and said: "As for you... you are pathetic. A journalist who thinks a pen can change the fate of these rabble?"
The journalist replied with a steady gaze: "The state has fallen into the mire of your corruption, and justice no longer lives in the courts. So, I came to deliver it with my own hands... here in your den."
Julian laughed a cold laugh that echoed off the cave walls, then clapped his hands twice. Iron doors swung open, and guards emerged dragging the girls; they wore tattered rags, their faces smeared with tears and dust, and the marks of whips were etched into their small arms.
— "Papa!" the little ones cried out in a single voice that tore our hearts apart.
We tried to rush forward, but Julian placed the blade of his dagger against the neck of the youngest girl and said in a terrifying hiss:
— "One step... and I will make her blood wash my shoes. Obey me, my girls, from now on, or these men die right now."
Suddenly, the small voice of Yara pierced the silence of terror. She stood with her thin body and said with all her might:
— "You are a monster! And I will never listen to you... I know that my father will protect me and save me from you!"
Julian's features shifted, and rage ignited in his cold eyes. He slapped her with a force that sent her small body flying to the ground, shouting:
— "You cursed child! How dare you talk back? I brought you here to enjoy your beautiful bodies. Guards! Take her to solitary confinement... I will handle her discipline myself."
When his hand struck Yara's face, I felt a rupture in my chest. It wasn't just the sound of a slap; it was the sound of every ounce of patience remaining in my soul shattering. I tried to lung forward, the shackles biting into my wrists. I wanted to rip his throat out with my teeth, but the muzzles pointed at my chest reminded me that my death now would mean losing her forever.
The guards took the girls back inside amidst hysterical screaming, while we remained paralyzed by helplessness and chains. Julian turned to enter his house, and stopped at the threshold without looking back at us. He spoke to the guards in a tone dripping with death:
— "Since they have seen more than they should... kill them all. And leave no trace of a single body."