## Chapter 1: The Intruders
" I'm late"
I came my aunt's home that evening feeling strangely cheerful, humming softly as I closed the front door behind me.
The warmth of home was gone.
The lights were off. The air felt heavy. Wrong.
Then I saw them.
Four men stood in different corners of the room. Silent. Watching. Smiling. Their white teeth flashed in the dark as if they had been patiently waiting for me.
Before I could scream, one of them stepped forward and struck me across the head.
The world spun. I didn't black out, but my body gave up. My knees hit the floor. Hands grabbed me. My wrists were tied tightly behind my back.
They dragged me by my hair into the kitchen. The only thing I could do was scream. It hurt. Everything hurt.
They dropped me onto the floor.
It was wet.
Too wet.
That's when I saw the blood.
It covered the floor. The walls. The counters.
The men were talking—too casually. Some in my language, others in one I didn't understand.
"We should just leave. This is boring," one said.
"No. It's procedure. She needs to kill at least one," another replied.
My chest tightened.
Then I saw my family.
My father and my sister were alive—tied, shaking, their faces pale with fear.
My mother and little brother were not.
They were on the floor.
The blood was theirs.
There were no gunshots. Only knife wounds. Too many.
My mind refused to understand what I was seeing.
One of the men cut the rope around my wrists and forced me to stand. His hand gripped my shoulder painfully as he pressed a gun into my palm.
"You need to shoot one," he said calmly.
"I… I can't," I whispered, but my voice barely existed.
They laughed.
"They're the bad ones," another man said, stroking my hair like I was a pet. "They took the money. They were waiting for this. Don't worry."
"Kill your sister," someone added. "Or do you want us to have fun first?"
They were enjoying this.
My father suddenly screamed, "Kill your sister!"
A man sighed.
"Ah. Loud man."
A shot rang out.
My father fell.
"Dude, what the hell?" one of them said.
"She needs to kill someone anyway," another replied coldly.
One of the men leaned close to my ear.
"Are you going to kill her?" he whispered. "Or can I?"
"Do we have to wait?" someone asked.
"Yes," another answered. "It's part of the project."
Project?
The word echoed inside my head.
They shoved the gun back into my hands and adjusted my fingers around it. The metal was cold. Heavy. It smelled sharp and metallic. My shoulder throbbed from the earlier hit.
"One bullet," the man said. "One life. That's enough."
I turned toward my sister.
Her eyes were wide. Wet. Begging.
End it.
I dropped the gun.
A hard strike hit the back of my head.
"So you want me to have fun?" the man said softly. "That's reasonable."
He stepped toward her.
My sister began crying silently. Her eyes locked onto mine.
Do it.
Do something.
The men were laughing.
The room felt smaller. Louder. I couldn't breathe.
My hand moved before my mind did.
I grabbed the gun.
I pulled the trigger.
She fell—but she was still breathing.
Before I could react, one of the men stepped forward and fired again.
Silence.
"Finally," someone said.
"Too bad," another muttered. "She was cute."
Hands grabbed me.
They dragged me outside and threw me into a van.
The engine roared to life.
Through the window, I saw my house disappear into the darkness.
The men spoke in low voices I couldn't understand.
My heart pounded so hard it hurt.
My hands were shaking.
I didn't know where they were taking me.
I didn't know what the project was.
And I didn't know if I would survive long enough to find out.