The first night bled into the first day like a fever dream.
When she opened her eyes, the bulb still buzzed overhead, its glow carving shadows into the walls. For a brief second, she thought it had all been a nightmare. But the ropes digging into her skin told her otherwise. Her arms ached, stiff from being bound all night. Her lips were cracked, her throat dry, her stomach twisting with hunger.
The door creaked. She flinched.
The leader stepped in, carrying a plastic bag. The sound of crinkling plastic filled the silence. He set it on the floor, crouching in front of her with a smile too calm, too casual. "Hungry?"
Her eyes darted to the bag. Food. Relief flooded her chest — until he pulled out a half-eaten sandwich, chewed the last bite himself, and tossed the wrapper at her feet.
Laughter burst from the others outside the door.
"You don't get to eat unless you earn it," he said, standing. "Understand?"
She shook her head weakly, tears already brimming. "Please… just let me go. I won't tell anyone. I swear—"
The slap came so fast it snapped her head sideways. Her cheek burned, the sting spreading into her jaw.
"Rule number one," he said coldly, crouching again so his eyes locked onto hers. "You don't speak unless I say so. You don't beg. You don't cry. You do what we say, or it gets worse."
The "worse" came faster than she could imagine.
Day One
They tested her like a toy. Forced her to crawl. Forced her to beg for water, only to pour it over the floor and watch her lap it up like a dog. When she refused, they pressed their boots against her back, forcing her down until her lips touched the dirt.
Every humiliation was followed by laughter.
When she tried to resist — biting one of their hands — they tied her tighter, ropes cutting into flesh until her wrists were raw, bleeding.
By the end of the day, she lay trembling on the mattress, her body aching, her mind screaming for escape. But the door remained shut. And her voice died in the shadows.
Day Two
They brought a phone. For a moment, hope surged — maybe she could call for help. But no. They forced her to record a message, her voice trembling, telling her parents she had run away with friends and was safe.
Her captors clapped as if she'd given a flawless performance. "Good girl. Now no one will come looking for you."
The phone left with them. The silence that followed was heavier than before.
Day Three
Hunger gnawed at her. Every sound of crinkling chips or the fizz of a soda from the boys made her stomach twist painfully. They ate in front of her, smacking their lips, exaggerating every bite.
One of them held out a crust of bread. She reached desperately — only for him to throw it on the filthy floor and stomp on it.
Her tears fell freely that day. But the tears did nothing. They only made the boys grin wider.
Day Four
The games turned darker.
They blindfolded her, spun her around until she stumbled, then shoved her toward the wall. She crashed, her forehead slamming against the plaster. Stars exploded in her vision.
They laughed as she crumpled to the ground. "Get up," they barked. When she didn't, they kicked her ribs until she gasped for air.
Pain became her new language. Every breath hurt. Every movement ached. Her body was becoming a map of bruises.
Day Five
She no longer knew when it was morning or night. Time blurred into one endless nightmare.
That day, the leader crouched by her again. His voice was soft, almost kind, and that made it worse. "You know, we could keep you forever. No one would even care. You're nothing. You're ours."
Her voice was a whisper, hoarse from screaming, crying, begging. "My brother… he'll come for me."
For the first time, their laughter faltered. The leader tilted his head, smirk tugging at his lips. "Your brother? Cute. Let him try."
They left her alone after that. But the thought of her brother — his face, his laugh, his protective arms — was the only thing keeping her alive.
She clung to that thought, even as darkness closed in.
Meanwhile, across town, her brother tore through the city searching for her. He plastered missing posters on poles, asked strangers on the street, stormed into the police station only to be brushed aside.
"Maybe she ran away," they told him."No," he growled, slamming his fist on the desk. "She wouldn't. Someone has her."
But the police shook their heads. The family of the rich classmate whispered behind closed doors, making sure nothing touched their son.
The brother's rage grew. It burned quietly, like a fuse waiting to reach the dynamite.
And in the abandoned building, his sister prayed for that fuse to burn faster. Because every day here was worse than the last.