It started with small things.
Missed texts, unwashed dishes, a forgotten birthday.
Harmless, really. At least that's what I told myself. People forget things and they get tired so it's not a big deal.
But I was wrong. It kept happening.
I'd wake up exhausted, no matter how long I slept. I'd find notes in my own handwriting I didn't remember writing. I'd reread the messages and wonder.
Was it I who typed these? Well, it looks normal at the surface, but the way the text is constructed is very....how could I say this.....is something like it has hidden intentions.
At the college, I smiled and joked, but there was a constant hum in my head, like white noise that wouldn't stop. And underneath it all, this dull ache, a pressure in my chest, in my mind. Like something was quietly cracking.
Of course, I didn't tell anyone. I mean, how will I explain that I am scared of my own thoughts? That some days, they're not even mine??
I said I was fine, very good at saying that in fact.
But I can't deny the truth that I am not okay. I don't think I will be okay for a while.
Then the alarm goes off, interrupting the boy's thoughts.
Cricklewood : 6:50 AM
He sat up, stretched his arms with a quiet yawn, then rubbed the sleep from his eyes before rising to his feet.
As he stood, his eyes fell on the bed a chaotic mess of twisted sheets and crumpled covers.
The blanket lay half-draped over the edge, the rest bunched on the floor like it had been kicked away in frustration. Pillows were scattered haphazardly, one wedged between the wall and the mattress, another lying facedown on the floor as if it had given up trying to offer comfort. It looked less like someone had slept there and more like someone had fought to find peace and lost.
He glanced at the messy bed and thought.
I should fix that... but it can wait. There are more important things to do.
His eyes shifted to the study desk, cluttered with scattered notes, an uncapped pen, and a half-empty coffee mug that had gone cold hours ago.
In the centre, his laptop sat open, the screen casting a soft, bluish glow in the dim room, quietly humming, as if waiting for him.
He sat down, expecting the usual unfinished chaos, but paused. The assignment was already done.
Not just started, it's finished.
He stared at it for a moment, unmoving.
Did I… already do this?
There was no satisfaction, no sense of achievement. Just the dull, creeping question.
When did I even write this?
But at this point, he wasn't surprised anymore.
He skimmed through the assignment, checking to see if the criteria were met.
They were.
Every requirement, covered. What was even stranger was the quality.It wasn't just complete it was good.Creative, polished, almost professional.
He glanced at the bed once more, the mess still tugging at the edge of his mind but he let it go. No time to unpack it.
A quick look at the clock made his stomach drop.
How is it already this late?
Panic nudged his chest as he rushed to get ready. He found his ID exactly where he didn't remember leaving it, threw on his go-to outfit faded jeans, a hoodie that smelled faintly of old detergent, and sneakers with worn soles and moved to the mirror.
He stared at his reflection for a beat too long. There were dark circles under his eyes, black hair slightly out of place, and a tiredness he couldn't hide.
Still, he forced a smirk, pointing at himself like it was all a joke.
"You handsome man," he said under his breath. "Federico."
He laughed a little—just enough to make it seem like everything was fine.
Federico stepped outside, greeted immediately by the sharp bite of the London wind. It cut through his hoodie like it had a personal grudge.
The street looked clean, neat, even at least to someone who didn't actually live in London.
To him, it was just the usual, a thin layer of grime hidden beneath polished façades, the scent of damp stone and leftover takeout clinging to the air.
As he walked, the streets remained mostly quiet—just as they usually were this far out.Northwest London didn't have the constant buzz of the city's heart.
It moved slower, quieter, with fewer people and more space between them. No crowds, no tourists, just the occasional local rushing somewhere, head down, collar up against the wind.
Far from the chaos of Central London, this part of the city almost felt like it belonged to a different world.
When Federico reached the bus stop, he pulled out his phone and checked the timetable.
Thirteen minutes.
He sighed and slipped the phone back into his pocket. Of course. The one day he actually kept track of time.
He looked around the so-called "bus stop" and couldn't help but shake his head.
No timetable posted. No bench. Not even a shelter—just a lonely metal pole sticking out of the pavement like it had given up trying to be useful.
He crossed his arms and muttered under his breath, "State-of-the-art public transport, huh?"
Waiting felt like a chore with no distraction.
Federico shifted from one foot to the other, trying to stay warm as the wind cut through his hoodie.
Thirteen minutes. It felt like an eternity when you had nothing to distract you. And right now, there was a lot on his mind that he'd rather not think about.
He glanced down the road again, hoping the bus would show up early—no such luck.
Instead, an older woman in a thick coat and scarves walked up and stopped next to him. She didn't say anything at first, just adjusted the strap of her canvas bag, then looked over at him.
"Cold, isn't it?" she said, her voice a little raspy.
Federico gave a small smile. "Yeah. Didn't think it'd be this bad."
She nodded, looking ahead. There wasn't much more to say, so they both just stood there in silence for a few moments. The cold was starting to bite, and Federico's mind was wandering again.
Why can't I just remember? Why does it feel like I'm losing time... like I'm not really here?
He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, trying to shake the thought away. The bus was still seven minutes away now. Time was stretching, dragging like it always did when he had nothing to focus on.
Finally, the bus rounded the corner and pulled up to the stop. Federico sighed in relief, not realizing how much he was waiting for that moment.
He stepped forward, tapping his card on the reader without a second thought, then made his way to the second floor of the bus.
The seats up top were mostly empty, so he slid into one by the window, trying to settle into the rhythm of the ride. He leaned back, watching the streets blur past as the bus rumbled on.
Paddington Green 8:00 am
After about thirty minutes, the bus finally reached his stop. Federico stepped off and made his way toward the crosswalk, his eyes scanning the familiar street.
The usual mix of commuters, the hum of distant conversations—everything felt normal.
But then, as he waited for the light to change, there was a sudden, deafening bang.
He turned toward the sound, just in time to see a thick plume of smoke rise from a store across the street.
The windows shattered in a violent spray of glass, and for a moment, everything seemed to freeze.
People on the sidewalk scattered, some screaming, others just standing there, stunned.
Suddenly, a van screeched to a halt right beside him. Before Federico could process what was happening, a man's gloved hand grabbed him by the arm, yanking him toward the vehicle.
His instincts kicked in too late—he tried to pull away, but the man was too strong, too fast.
In an instant, another hand was over his mouth, forcing a cloth against his lips. T
he taste of something bitter hit his tongue as the world spun. He struggled, his body reacting in panic, but it was no use. The man was already pulling him into the van.
His hands were pulled behind his back and tied tightly. The ropes bit into his skin, making it impossible to move. A rough, fabric bag was shoved over his head, plunging him into complete darkness.
He could feel the movement of the van, the engine's hum vibrating through the floor, but his mind was racing too fast to focus on anything else. His heart pounded in his chest, adrenaline flooding his veins. Who were these people? Why him?
The cloth was suffocating, pressing against his face as he fought to breathe evenly. His mind was a blur, and the silence in the van only amplified the chaos in his thoughts.
Wait.
A memory flashed through the panic—some video, a lawyer explaining what to do in case of a kidnapping.
Stay calm. Try to gather details. Listen.
Federico forced himself to focus, straining to hear anything over the engine, any voices, turns, brakes.
But then, loud music suddenly blasted through the van's speakers. Harsh, distorted bass shook the metal walls, drowning out every other sound.
They knew.
His stomach dropped.
The music throbbed like a second heartbeat—loud, relentless, artificial. It filled every inch of the van, vibrating in his skull, hammering his nerves.
Federico tried to focus, to count the seconds between turns, bumps in the road, anything that might help—but the noise blurred everything together.
He couldn't tell how long they'd been driving. Five minutes? Twenty? Time was stretching, losing shape.
The bag over his head was hot now, clinging to his skin, damp with sweat. Each breath felt shorter than the last. The air inside it was growing thinner, stale. Panic crept in quietly at first, like a draft under a door.
This isn't real.This can't be real.
His fingers twitched against the ropes. He tried pulling at them, even just to feel something different, but they didn't budge. The friction burned.
The music kept playing. Too loud, too sharp. A part of his brain was screaming at him to stay calm, to breathe, to remember what that video said.
But the other part—the quieter one—was starting to wonder if maybe this was it. Maybe the blank spots in his memory had finally caught up with him.
What if I did something? What if this is because of me?
His pulse was racing, fast and uneven, like it wanted to outrun whatever was coming next.
He clenched his jaw. He wanted to scream, to fight, to do something but all he could do was sit there in the dark, swallowed by noise and the rising terror that he might not come back from this as the same person.
The panic should have kept building.
But instead… something strange began to happen.
Federico's thoughts-racing and scattered just moments ago, started to slip away, like chalk smudged off a board.
The fear dulled. The confusion faded. The dread, even that, began to feel distant.
His breathing slowed—not out of calm, but emptiness. Like something inside had just… let go.
The music still pounded through the van, but it barely registered now. It wasn't noise anymore. It was rhythm.
And in that darkness, bound and blindfolded by the bag, a thought came not one of escape or survival.
But something else.
Why does this feel familiar?
Then, slowly, a smile spread across his face.
Not the kind that came from relief or hope.
This was something else entirely.
A wrong kind of smile.
Too wide. Too calm.
It stretched across his face like it didn't belong there, like it had been carved onto him from the inside.
Federico sat motionless, the grin fixed and growing, as if the last piece of himself had quietly slipped out the back door…And something else had walked in to take its place.
Outskirts of London 8:40 am
The van has taken the city outskirts far from Paddington. The driver lowers the volume and starts speaking in an Arabic-English way.
"Brother Fadi," he said, his words heavy, "the plan worked."
Fadi leaned back, his expression unreadable. "Well, our college student here is like the rest... dumb."
Fadi pulled out his walkie-talkie, his fingers brushing the worn edges.
"We've got our victim, boss," he said, a hint of pride in his voice.
The walkie-talkie beeped in response. "Good. I noticed you're ahead of schedule."
Fadi smirked. "Heh, we're the best, after all. We've done this with five other victims. This kind of work is basic for us."
"Good job. Inform me when you've arrived at the warehouse."
"Alright, boss. See you later." Fadi smirked, setting the walkie-talkie down with a sense of satisfaction.
He glanced over at Federico, who, for some reason, was silent.
"Oho, kid, you're quiet now... Accepting your fate?" Fadi chuckled darkly.
"Let's have a little chit-chat, shall we?" he added, his grin widening.
Suddenly, Federico spoke up, his voice uneasy.
"I need to piss," he said, clearly uncomfortable.
Fadi's laugh echoed in the van.
"Oh, well, we're kidnappers. Do you really think we'll let you?" he sneered.
"I want to pee outside—" Federico started, but was immediately cut off by Fadi.
"Shut up! Piss yourself or something," Fadi snapped, a laugh escaping his lips.
Just then, the driver called out to him.
Irritated, Fadi leaned toward the front. "What?"
The driver whispered urgently, his voice low. "We can't let him pee in here. We need to keep the van clean... we've got four victims today, remember? We can't risk raising suspicions."
Fadi shrugged. "Fine... stop somewhere far from the road. We can't let him know where he is."
The van came to a halt in a secluded spot. The air was thick with the smell of Indian food, though in London, that could be any number of restaurants.
Fadi yanked Federico roughly out of the van, his hands tightening around the back of Federico's shirt as he shoved him hard against the cold brick wall.
The impact rattled Federico, but there was no time for him to recover.
Desperation flickered in Federico's eyes as he turned his head to the side. His body trembled, and with a strained groan, he relieved himself against the wall. The yellow stream splashed audibly, staining the bricks in a sickening display.
Fadi watched with cold, impatient eyes, his fingers twitching at his side. "Faster," he snapped, his voice a low growl. "Don't make me wait."
Once Federico finished, Fadi grabbed him by the arm, yanking him away from the wall with force. Federico stumbled, still shaking from the humiliation and the pain in his limbs, but Fadi didn't care.
With a swift, unforgiving pull, Fadi dragged him back toward the van, ignoring any resistance. Federico's feet barely touched the ground as Fadi shoved him into the van, slamming the door behind him with a loud thud.
Scotland Yard Office 9:00
Inspector Anderson stood in front of the pattern board, his eyes scanning the complex web of connections, timelines, and victims. His brow furrowed as he traced the lines, trying to make sense of the ever-growing case.
"So, they've taken another victim," he muttered under his breath. "When did this happen?"
The officer beside him quickly flipped through the papers and handed him a report. "The victim was precisely abducted at 8:04, Inspector."
Anderson took the report, his gaze sharpening. "Another one... This is getting out of hand."
The officer's face tightened with worry as he glanced at the pattern board. "What do we do, sir? They leave no evidence—nothing to go on," he said, frustration heavy in his voice.
"Also, we don't even know who the victim is."
Anderson's gaze remained fixed on the board for a moment longer before he turned, his expression stern. "We need to consult her."
The officer blinked, unease creeping into his features. "You mean...?"
Anderson nodded once, his jaw set. "Yes. It's the only way."
The officer hesitated, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Isn't she on vacation?"
Anderson's gaze remained cold, his expression unflinching. "We won't know until we call her."
Heathrow Airport 9:10 AM
At the bustling pickup area, a woman stood, waiting for her taxi. She was tall, with a striking figure that turned heads effortlessly. Her long blonde hair cascaded down her shoulders, framing a face that could easily be called flawless—delicate features with a hint of strength in her gaze.
She wore a black long-sleeved shirt, slightly open at the collar to reveal a white T-shirt beneath, paired with black pants and white shoes.
As she stood there, people couldn't help but stare. Men glanced her way, their cheeks flushing as they tried to mask their admiration.
Women watched with a mixture of awe and jealousy, sizing her up in a quiet, almost competitive way.
Her taxi pulled up with a soft hiss of the brakes. As it came to a complete stop, the door swung open, and an elderly man stepped out from behind the wheel.
He adjusted his cap with a respectful nod before turning toward her.
"Welcome back, Madam Raine," he said, his voice warm yet formal, the familiarity in his tone clear.
Raine smiled, a playful glint in her eyes.
"You can call me Bella, old man Nelson."
Nelson chuckled under his breath, unfazed by the teasing. He lifted her luggage with practiced ease and loaded it into the back of the taxi.
As the taxi pulled away from the curb and merged into traffic, Bella's phone buzzed. She sighed, already knowing who it was. Without enthusiasm, she answered.
"What? I'm exhausted—call me tomorr—"
"Bella," Anderson's voice cut through, urgent and direct. "We need you. ASAP. It's a life-and-death situation."
Bella rolled her eyes, clearly irritated. "What kind of life-and-death scenario are we talking about?"
Anderson didn't waste a second. "Come to Paddington Green. Near the college. I'll explain everything when you get here."
Bella glanced up from her phone, her tone softening. "Hey, Nelson... would it be alright if we made a stop at Paddington Green?"
Nelson chuckled, eyes still on the road. "No problem, Madam. Anything for you."
The car went to a different route.
Paddington Green 9:50 AM
The taxi pulled up to the edge of the cordoned-off area at Paddington Green. Blue lights flashed in the distance, casting a cold hue over the early morning haze.
Bella stepped out of the vehicle, adjusting her coat as she took in the scene. She was immediately met by Inspector Anderson, who stood waiting with a stern expression.
"Hello, Inspector," she said calmly, her tone professional but cool. "How can I help you?"
Anderson wasted no time speak.
"Remember the serial kidnappers of Cricklewood? They took another victim in approximately 8:04 here at this sidewalk."
Bella reaches for her chin thinking.
"Can you explain what was that burnt off store over there?"
"We initially assumed it was a separate incident," Anderson replied, his tone professional and measured.
"But the store was sold by its last owner two years ago—and there's something off about the timing. We're now considering a possible connection to the kidnapping."
Bella stared at the charred remains of the storefront, her arms crossed as she thought aloud.
"Hmmm... if I were the kidnapper, I wouldn't take the risk of blowing up a store just to snatch someone off the street. Too messy. Too loud."
She narrowed her eyes slightly. "Unless the explosion was a distraction... or a message."
"But that would be too easy," Bella began, then suddenly stopped mid-thought. Her eyes narrowed, a realization forming behind them.
"I see..." she murmured, then turned to Anderson with renewed focus. "Do we have CCTV footage? Have you checked it yet?"
Anderson nodded. "Yes, we've got footage. The victim is clearly visible—looks like a college student, judging by the violet ID lanyard around his neck."
He motioned toward a nearby unmarked ICU vehicle, its back doors open and a laptop already set up inside.
"Come on. Show her the footage," he instructed one of the tech officers inside.
The tech officer rewound the footage, his fingers moving quickly over the laptop keys.
"Look at this," he said, leaning aside so Bella could see the screen clearly.
The video played. It showed a quiet street just moments before chaos. A young man stepped off a city bus, a violet ID lanyard swinging from his neck. He moved to the edge of the sidewalk, waiting for the pedestrian light to change.
Then—boom.
A sudden explosion erupted from a nearby storefront, sending debris and smoke into the street. People screamed and scattered in panic.
In the chaos, a black van screeched up to the curb. The side door flung open, and two masked figures sprang out. They grabbed the student with military precision—no hesitation, no wasted motion—and shoved him inside. Within seconds, the van peeled away and disappeared into traffic.
Bella looks at it in a long time.
"The vehicle is unidentifiable, right? Since the plate number looks a bit dark"
Anderson nods for confirmation
"That is the only CCTV footage we got in that van....they just disappear."
Anderson added with a sigh, "Witnesses don't remember the plate number either, unfortunately."
Bella nodded, her expression set. "Well, let's find out who the victim is." Without a moment's hesitation, she stepped out of the vehicle.
Anderson raised an eyebrow, a hint of disbelief in his tone. "I was about to ask you that. You do realize there are a lot of students around here, right? How do you plan on identifying him?"
Bella flashed him a confident smile as they started walking toward the college. "I have my ways."
As they arrived at the college, Bella and Anderson made their way through the busy campus, students milling about between classes. They approached the receptionist's desk, where a young woman looked up from her computer.
"Can I help you?" she asked, noticing their serious expressions.
"We're investigating an incident that occurred near Paddington Green this morning," Anderson said, his voice calm and professional. "We're trying to get information about a student, possibly in your college, who might have been involved."
The receptionist blinked, a bit unsure. "I'm afraid I don't have information about any incidents, but I can check the student records for you."
Bella stepped in, keeping her tone polite but focused. "We're looking for students who wear violet ID lanyards. Can you check if there's anyone who fits that description?"
The receptionist nodded, typing quickly on her computer. "It looks like all students here wear violet lanyards, so I wouldn't be able to narrow it down by that.
However, I can check for students who were logged into the system or who have been in and out of the campus recently."
Bella exchanged a look with Anderson. "That's a start."
The receptionist then glanced back at them. "If you want more detailed access to the records, the IT office handles the log-in data and security footage. You might want to check with them."
"Thank you," Bella said, her voice steady. She turned to Anderson. "Let's head to the IT office."
As Bella and Anderson stepped into the IT office, they were greeted by the hum of several computers, each manned by busy staff members typing away, their faces lit by the glow of screens. The space was a maze of desks and monitors, cables snaking across the floor in a seemingly chaotic yet organized way.
At the far end of the room, a middle-aged man with graying hair and glasses looked up from his desk. He was the head manager of the department, wearing a professional but worn expression, as if he had seen it all before.
"Can I help you?" he asked, standing up and brushing his glasses clean.
Anderson stepped forward, introducing himself with a brief nod. "Inspector Anderson of the Scotland Yard, and this is Bella a Consultant. We're investigating a potential abduction near Paddington Green this morning. We were hoping you could assist us in accessing some of your security footage or student log-in records."
The manager raised an eyebrow, then nodded slowly, as if understanding the seriousness of the situation. "I can help with that. What exactly do you need?"
As the manager nodded and prepared to assist, Bella stepped forward, her tone calm but direct.
"Can you check all the students in your records who might fall under the category of any Asian background?" she asked, her gaze steady.
The manager paused, his brow furrowing slightly as he considered her request. "That's a broad category, but I can filter for students with certain ethnic backgrounds based on the records we have. It will take some time, but I can get you something."
Bella glanced at Anderson, her expression sharp, as though she were already moving ahead in her mind. "We don't have much time," she said, the urgency in her voice clear. "We need to know if one of them is the victim of the abduction."
Anderson looked at Bella with a raised brow but didn't say anything, understanding her method. The manager sighed and nodded. "Alright, I'll get started on that right now. It might take a few minutes."
As the manager hesitated, Bella's patience began to wear thin. She glanced at the clock on the wall, then at Anderson, and without another word, she strode over to the desk where the manager was working.
"I don't have time for this," Bella muttered under her breath. With a swift motion, she shoved the manager aside, taking control of the computer herself.
The manager, taken aback, stumbled slightly before catching himself. "Hey, what—?"
"Sit down," Bella snapped, her tone sharp and commanding as she quickly began typing into the system.
Anderson stepped back, a bit surprised by her sudden action but not questioning it. He could tell she was already in full investigative mode.
Bella's fingers flew over the keyboard, pulling up records faster than the manager had managed, her focus unbreakable. "I'll handle it from here. You just stay out of the way."
The manager, visibly flustered but realizing he couldn't argue with her, nodded and stepped back, watching as Bella pulled up a list of students.
Bella's eyes narrowed as she quickly scanned through the data. She clicked on the class schedule for 8:30, which was listed as "C4 ICT Level 3, Year 1 and 2." As she clicked through, the screen displayed a list of students enrolled in the course.
Her fingers flew across the keyboard, narrowing the search further. "Let's see…" she muttered to herself, filtering the list for students with an Asian background. The system processed the request, and a list of five names appeared on the screen.
Bella leaned closer, studying the list intently. "Five..."
Anderson stepped up behind her, peering over her shoulder at the names. "Is one of them our victim?" he asked, his voice low.
Bella's gaze flicked over the list once more. "Not sure yet. I need to cross-check with the campus records and the footage from the CCTV."
Bella's fingers hovered over the screen, her mind already calculating her next move. "We've got a starting point, but we don't have time to waste," she muttered, her focus laser-sharp.
Without hesitation, she clicked on the next filter, narrowing the list further to students of Filipino descent. The system updated, showing three names.
She quickly scanned the list, her eyes darting across the names. "Three," she said under her breath, almost to herself. "This narrows it down... but not enough."
Anderson leaned in, watching her intently. "Do you think one of them is our victim?"
Bella didn't answer immediately. Instead, she pulled up the next layer of information, determined to find a match in the campus records or the CCTV footage.
Bella's finger hovered over the name on the screen. She stared at the photo, her mind piecing the details together.
"Yes," she said, her voice steady but sharp with certainty. "Based on the CCTV footage, the victim is a male with curly hair. We've narrowed it down to two options... but I think we've found our guy." She pointed firmly at one of the names on the list: Federico Bartholome.
Anderson looked at the name, then back at the screen with a skeptical frown. "What? Are you sure? His hairstyle doesn't match the footage exactly. The other guy looks like a better match."
Bella's gaze remained focused, unwavering. "Trust me, Anderson. Look at the finer details—the face shape, the build, the way he's standing. The other guy's features don't line up as well." She leaned closer to the screen, her finger tracing Federico's name. "Federico Bartholome. He's our victim."
Anderson frowned, clearly still unsure. "But the hairstyle..."
Bella cut him off, her tone firm. "Hair can be styled differently, Anderson. I've seen enough to know that when you're looking at a victim, you don't always go by the hair. It's the other traits that matter."
Anderson nodded slowly, though the doubt in his eyes hadn't fully disappeared. "Alright. If you're sure."
They stepped out of the college, the brisk wind tugging at Bella's coat as she marched toward the car.
"Anderson," she said without looking back, "give me the case file of the serial kidnappings."
Once inside the vehicle, Anderson reached into the glove compartment and handed over the thick folder. Bella took it without a word, her eyes already scanning the pages before the door even closed.
She flipped through the file at an almost unnatural speed, absorbing the details as if her brain was wired differently. The sound of pages rustling echoed in the silence of the car. Within moments, she shut the file with a soft thump and looked straight ahead.
"Let's go to his house."
Anderson, who had just started the engine, blinked in confusion. "Wait… why the house? We already know he was abducted from the street."
Bella turned her head slightly, her voice calm but with an edge of urgency. "Because if they've taken him, there might be signs of surveillance or previous attempts. Maybe notes, maybe warnings, maybe even missed break-ins. If he's their sixth victim, it's likely they studied him longer than we thought."
Anderson frowned, still not quite convinced. "And if we find nothing?"
"Then we rule out a lead," Bella said, eyes already scanning the city streets.
Unknown Place: 10:20
The dim light filtered through the cracked windows of the abandoned warehouse, casting fractured shadows across the dusty floor. The air was cold and stale, heavy with the scent of rust and oil.
Federico sat tied to a metal chair in the center of the room, his wrists bound behind him and ankles secured to the legs of the chair. A faint bruise was forming on his temple, but his expression remained strangely calm—too calm for someone just abducted.
His eyes scanned the warehouse slowly, silently observing: rusted equipment, scattered debris, old shipping crates. Every sound echoed. He didn't struggle or call out. He just sat—quiet, breathing evenly, thinking.
Across the room, Fadi lounged on a tattered couch, one foot propped lazily over the other. He eyed Federico now and then, puzzled by the kid's unusual composure.
"Strange little guy…" Fadi muttered under his breath, scratching his head.
He leaned back, arms behind his head, letting the silence stretch. He was waiting. Orders were coming. And until then, he wasn't wasting energy.
Still, he couldn't help but glance at Federico again. "Why ain't you crying or screaming like the others, huh?" he muttered, half to himself, half to Federico.
Fadi's phone buzzed on the crate beside him. He lazily reached over, picked it up, and read the message.
"He is the son of a local rich politician. Ask him about the money. You already set up the things? If you did, start broadcasting—threaten the kid, make him beg his father."
Fadi's eyebrows lifted slightly. "Huh... well, look at that," he murmured.
He stood, cracking his neck as he walked toward Federico with slow, deliberate steps. His smirk returned—meaner now, fueled by purpose.
"Turns out you're not just some random college boy after all," he said, circling Federico like a predator.
"You're a rich brat. Daddy's got money and power. Guess that's why the boss picked you."
Federico's eyes flicked up, but he said nothing.
Fadi stopped in front of him. "Time to earn your keep, golden boy. You're going to help us make a very emotional broadcast... unless you want this to get ugly fast."
He turned toward a camera set up on a tripod in the corner—already connected, already ready. A light blinked red: standby.
Fadi checked it, nodded, then turned back. "Let's go live."
Bartholome's Flat 10:20
Bella and Anderson stepped out of the car, standing in front of a row of uniform, grey-bricked London flats. The building was quiet, just like the others on the street—same narrow windows, same chipped steps, same dull facade. If you didn't know what you were looking for, you'd never guess someone connected to a high-profile kidnapping lived here.
"Standard council flat," Anderson muttered, eyeing the building. "Blends in a little too well."
Bella didn't respond. She was already walking up the short flight of stairs, her eyes scanning everything—doorbell placements, security cams, discarded flyers near the mail slot. Every detail mattered.
Anderson followed, checking his notes. "According to the records, he lives alone. Parents visit on weekends."
Bella crouched by the door, pulling a set of lockpicks from her coat with practiced ease. Within seconds, the lock gave a soft click.
Anderson's voice shot up behind her. "What in the world are you doing?!"
Bella stood up, giving him a tired glance as she pushed the door open. "Breaking in, duh. How else do you expect us to get in when the flat's owner has been kidnapped?"
Anderson threw his hands slightly in the air, glancing around as if someone might be watching. "There are procedures—"
"And how many victims have those procedures saved?" Bella shot back, already stepping inside.
That shut him up.
They stepped into the flat, the door clicking shut behind them. The air inside was still, untouched since the morning. Everything was neat—too neat. It was the kind of order that hinted at routine, not personality.
Bella glanced around, then turned sharply. "Nelson," she said crisply, "sweep the whole flat. Anything out of place, no matter how small."
Nelson nodded without hesitation and moved off toward the living area, beginning his silent, methodical check.
Bella headed straight for the bedroom, pushing the door open with quiet intent. It was simple, like the rest of the flat—twin bed, small desk, half-open wardrobe. A few textbooks were stacked on the desk next to a slightly open laptop.
She stepped inside, scanning the room carefully. She checked under the bed, along the edges of the windowsill, behind the curtains. Her eyes moved with the precision of someone who knew exactly what she was looking for—even if she hadn't found it yet.
At the desk, she sat down and opened the laptop fully. It hummed to life, prompting for a password. Bella narrowed her eyes.
Locked.
Bella smirked to herself as she reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a small USB drive. She twirled it between her fingers before plugging it into the laptop.
"Muehehehe," she muttered under her breath with a mischievous grin, clearly enjoying herself a little too much.
Anderson, standing near the bedroom door, raised an eyebrow. "Did you just—wait... is that the Tech Officer's—?"
"I borrowed it," Bella cut in smoothly, eyes on the screen. "He won't miss it."
The USB did its job—bypassing the login and gaining administrator access in seconds. The desktop flickered to life. Folders. Shortcuts. A browser window that hadn't been closed properly.
"Let's see what you've been up to, Federico," she murmured, clicking open the browser history and documents folder.
Behind her, Anderson sighed. "One day you're going to get arrested doing all this."
"Probably," Bella said without looking up, "but not today."
Bella's eyes remained fixed on the laptop as she clicked through several files, each one leading her closer to something she couldn't quite put her finger on yet. The room was quiet except for the soft hum of the computer and her methodical typing.
After a moment, she glanced up at Anderson, her face sharp with focus. "Did you find anything?"
Anderson, still scanning the room, shook his head slowly. "Nothing out of the ordinary. No signs of forced entry, no broken windows. Everything looks untouched."
Bella leaned back in the chair, considering. She glanced at the still-open laptop screen. "So, no physical signs. But the guy was being watched. No way he didn't notice someone following him."
She scanned the files again, her mind ticking over the possibilities. "There's got to be more."
Bella's eyes flicked to the open browser window, where the "Restore Page" button was highlighted. With a practiced click, the page refreshed, and suddenly, a document popped up on the screen.
It was an assignment.
She scanned it quickly. It wasn't just any assignment—it was well beyond the level of a standard college task. The formatting was immaculate, the language precise, and the content was exceptionally detailed, almost too professional for a student project.
"This doesn't fit," Bella muttered under her breath, glancing up at Anderson.
Anderson, who had been pacing near the doorway, stepped closer. "What do you mean?"
Bella's fingers hovered over the mouse. "This assignment... it's not something Federico would've written for a class. It's too polished, almost like a report for a company or some professional entity. Whoever was pulling the strings, they used him."
She clicked through the document's history, and there it was—multiple revisions, edits, all made within the last few days.
"It's like he was working on this for someone else," Bella said, eyes narrowing. "This assignment... it's a cover."
Anderson looked at the screen, his brows furrowing. "A cover for what?"
Bella stared at the document for a long moment, her mind clicking into place. "I don't know yet, but it's connected. They used him for something bigger than just kidnapping."
As Bella skimmed the document, something caught her eye in the corner of the screen—a program running quietly in the background. She moved the cursor, clicking on the icon.
Her eyes narrowed as the application popped open.
It was an SMS Scheduler.
"Huh?" Bella muttered, her surprise clear. "Why would a college student need this? This isn't something you'd just install for fun."
Anderson, who had been silently observing, stepped closer. "What is it?"
"SMS Scheduler. It's used to send automated texts at scheduled times," she explained quickly, her mind racing. "This isn't something you casually download unless you're trying to communicate without anyone catching on. And it's been active for days."
Bella's eyes flicked to Anderson. "Turn on the TV."
Anderson didn't hesitate. He walked over to the nearby table, grabbing the remote and flipping on the television. The screen lit up, showing a random commercial—some product pitch about a new smartphone.
Bella's fingers hovered over the laptop as she scrolled through more of the software's settings, a thought forming in her mind.
"This," she murmured, "was used to send messages. It could be the link to the kidnappers. Someone's been using Federico's phone to communicate with the others."
She didn't look up as the commercial continued to play, her focus entirely on the screen before her.
As the commercial droned on, the screen suddenly flickered. The image shifted, interrupting the product pitch with a grainy, distorted video.
It was Federico.
His face was pale, his eyes wide, and his mouth moving slightly, but there was something... off about it. He was tied to a chair, his body slumped as if in defeat, tears visibly running down his cheeks. A typical hostage video, but as the camera zoomed in on his expression, Bella felt a chill creep up her spine.
His face wasn't showing fear or panic like you'd expect. There was something unsettlingly blank about it—like he wasn't crying at all. The tears were there, but they seemed... forced. His eyes didn't convey any emotion, and his expression was unreadable, as if he was hiding something beneath the surface.
Bella's heart skipped a beat as she leaned closer to the screen. "Wait…"
Anderson looked at the TV, then back at Bella, confusion etched on his face. "What's wrong?"
Bella didn't answer at first. Her gaze was locked on Federico's face, analyzing every small detail. Something wasn't adding up. It wasn't just fear or pain on his face. It was almost... as if he was being controlled, following a script.
"His eyes…" Bella murmured, her voice cold. "There's no panic. It's almost like he's been told to do this—put on a show. He's not reacting how you'd expect. It's like he's hiding something."
Anderson stared at the screen. "You think he's faking it?"
Bella didn't answer. Her eyes were locked on Federico, watching every subtle movement of his face. The video continued, and Federico's voice broke the silence, shaky and strained.
"Dad… please, help me. I—I'm at a bad area, no doors open now. Everyone's nervous, don't overreact. Nothing else dangerous. We're all really scared. Everything's very... yellow."
He hesitated, blinking, then added, "Come on, Papa. Please. Please, only now, pray."
Bella's heart raced. The phrasing was bizarre—fragmented, unnatural. He wasn't just scared—he was trying to communicate something.
She leaned closer to the screen, eyes narrowing. "That's not a plea. It's a puzzle."
Quickly, she snatched a piece of paper and scribbled down the first letters of each sentence, her hand flying across the page. A-B-A-N-D-O-N-E-D... W-A-R-E-H-O-U-S-E... E-V-Y... C-O-M-P-A-N-Y.
She stared at it. "It's a location."
Anderson blinked. "What?"
She thrust the paper toward him. "Abandoned warehouse. EVY Company."
Then, without missing a beat, she grabbed Federico's laptop and phone.
"Call Scotland Yard—now!"
Abandoned Evy Warehouse 10:30 AM
After the broadcast ended, the warehouse fell into a tense silence. Fadi stood by the table, flipping a burner phone in his hand. It rang twice before he answered, a smug grin spreading across his face.
"Hello," Fadi said coolly, "You saw the broadcast, right?"
A panicked voice burst through the line—raw, trembling with emotion.
"Please—please let my son go! I'll do anything you want. Just don't hurt him!"
Fadi chuckled darkly, his tone icy. "That's what I like to hear. A father willing to bargain. Good. Then listen carefully…"
He smirked, his tone dripping with mock sympathy."Give me fifty million pounds."
There was a sharp gasp on the other end of the line, followed by a voice cracking with disbelief."Fifty million?! That's nearly everything I have!"
Fadi's grin widened, enjoying the desperation."Then it's simple. Your son… or your fortune."
The line went quiet, the weight of the ultimatum sinking in. The politician's breathing grew heavier—each second more panicked than the last.
Fadi's voice dropped to a chilling whisper."You have fifty minutes. No police. No games. Or he disappears forever."
The phone was still in Fadi's hand, the line open, when the distant wail of sirens suddenly pierced the quiet air outside the warehouse.
His smirk snapped into a snarl.
"The fuck is that?" he muttered, stepping toward the dusty windows. The red-and-blue lights were still faint in the distance—but unmistakable.
His eyes darted to Federico, still tied to the chair, still eerily calm.
Then fury took over.
Fadi's face twisted in rage. He stormed across the room, shoving the phone into his pocket but not ending the call.
"WHAT THE FUCK!" he shouted, pulling his pistol and jamming it against Federico's head.
"You brat! I knew something was wrong with you! That blank face, those weird words—what did you do?! WHAT DID YOU DO?!"
Federico didn't blink. His stare remained locked on Fadi, steady—almost challenging.
From Fadi's pocket, the faint sound of Federico's father still crackled through the call.
"Hello? Fadi? What's going on? Are you still there?!"
The sirens were getting louder. Closer.
Fadi's hand shook slightly as he realized they were out of time.
Federico slowly raised his head, his lips curling into a calm, unsettling smile.
"What do you mean?" he said softly, almost mockingly. "I just gave a coded message about our location. Nothing more."
Fadi's eyes widened in disbelief. He gritted his teeth and jammed the gun harder against Federico's temple.
"HOW?!" he bellowed. "How the hell did you know?! We kept you blindfolded—isolated. You didn't see or hear anything!"
Federico chuckled quietly under his breath, a sound that sent a chill down Fadi's spine.
"You'd be amazed what you can learn from smell… vibration… heat…" he whispered. "You think you're clever, but you made a mistake. A few, actually."
Fadi's breathing grew ragged, his finger twitching on the trigger as the sirens closed in—louder now, unmistakably near.
Federico kept that strange, confident smile on his face, even as the barrel pressed into his skull.
"You want to know how I figured it out?" he said quietly, voice low and deliberate. "Fine."
He leaned in slightly, his eyes locked on Fadi's.
"First, the blindfold—you idiots used a cheap one. I could see through it easily. Oh, and the bag over my head? Thin enough to let sunlight bleed in. I tracked how long we were in open light before it went dark."
Fadi's eyes narrowed, but Federico continued without pause.
"That's when I realized: we went underground. A tunnel. And not just any tunnel—Paddington has a few hidden ones. No CCTV. Quiet. Isolated."
He tilted his head just a little, smug.
"Then you let me piss."
Fadi flinched slightly at the memory.
"I smelled the food in the air—fenugreek, masala, tandoor smoke. A specific blend. There's only one cluster of Indian restaurants that strong. That told me where we stopped."
Federico gave a soft chuckle.
"And from there… it was easy. Forty minutes from that district to this abandoned warehouse. You brought me right to you."
Outside, the sirens were now deafening—just seconds away.
"I'm gonna kill you!" Fadi roared, his hand shaking as he pressed the gun harder against Federico's head.
But Federico didn't flinch.
He stared straight into Fadi's furious eyes, completely unfazed. "Go ahead," he said coldly. "Shoot me."
A beat passed—tense, electric.
Then Federico added, voice sharp and cutting, "But you won't get a single penny if I die."
He glanced at the still-open phone on the table, the call still active.
"Right, Dad?"
The line crackled with silence—for a moment—and then the trembling voice of Federico's father came through, laced with panic and desperation.
"Don't hurt him! Please! We'll pay—just don't hurt my son!"
Outside of the Abandoned Evy Warehouse 11:00 AM
As Bella and Anderson arrived, the sight of multiple police cars flooding the area made the air tense with anticipation. Officers were already swarming the entrance of the warehouse, preparing to breach.
Anderson quickly unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the door, stepping out with urgency, hand on his gun, ready to move.
He glanced back at Bella, who was still sitting in the car, her eyes fixed on the laptop and phone in her hands.
"Bella, you coming?" Anderson asked, his voice laced with concern.
Without looking up, Bella shook her head, her fingers typing rapidly as she navigated through Federico's laptop and phone.
"You guys can handle it," she said quietly, her focus unwavering from the screen.
Anderson hesitated, sensing something was off but didn't press further. He knew Bella worked best when left to her own devices. The sirens and the sound of police officers gearing up for the breach snapped him out of his thoughts.
With a final glance toward her, Anderson grabbed his radio and signaled to the team. "We'll take care of it. Stay here."
As he rushed toward the warehouse, Bella remained in the car, fully immersed in her investigation.
"Shots fired! Shots fired!" The shout rang out over the police radios, sending a wave of panic through the officers at the entrance of the warehouse. Everyone froze for a moment, the sound of the gunshots echoing through the area.
From the shadows of the building, Fadi's companion, hidden behind cover, fired at the advancing police. His aim was precise, forcing the officers to retreat, seeking cover behind their vehicles.
The crack of gunfire split the air as Fadi's accomplice unleashed another volley of shots, the bullets striking the ground near the police, making them hesitate. The sound of the shots bouncing off metal and stone filled the tense air.
Anderson, ducking behind one of the police cars, cursed under his breath. "Dammit, we need to move in now! They're pinned down!"
The officers were stuck, unable to make any progress without risking more casualties. They exchanged glances, waiting for orders, but the threat of gunfire kept them back.
Inside the car, Bella's fingers hovered over Federico's phone, eyes narrowed. She heard the commotion outside, but she didn't look up. Instead, she scrolled through the messages on Federico's phone with growing determination.
Meanwhile, inside the dimly lit warehouse, Fadi's anger grew with every passing second. He paced back and forth, his hand gripping the gun as he shouted into the phone, the voice of Federico's father still on the other end.
"SEND THE GODDAMN MONEY!" Fadi screamed, his words a mix of frustration and menace. His eyes darted nervously toward Federico, who was still tied to the chair, his face pale but stoic. The young man's eyes remained cold, unreadable, despite the gun pressed against his head.
Fadi's frustration was mounting. The sirens outside, the gunfire from his companion—it all felt like it was slipping out of his control. "You think I'm bluffing, huh?" he snarled into the phone, his finger tightening on the trigger. "I will kill him if you don't pay! 50 million—NOW!"
Federico, still quiet, shifted slightly in the chair, and Fadi's gaze shot to him. "Don't think you're going to get out of this alive, kid," he muttered, teeth gritted.
The voice on the phone trembled. "Please… I-I'll do anything—just let him go! I'll have the money wired immediately!"
Fadi's smirk returned, but it was a cold, vicious thing. "Good. Now you've got ten minutes. Don't make me wait longer."
He hung up the phone and tossed it onto a nearby table, his breath heavy and ragged. His eyes locked onto Federico, who hadn't shown any signs of fear.
"You really think you're going to walk out of here, huh? You're nothing but a pawn in my game," Fadi spat, though there was doubt creeping into his voice.
Federico didn't respond. He just stared back, his eyes cold, unwavering.
Fadi's laughter echoed through the dim warehouse, a twisted, victorious sound. He paced around Federico, his gun still in hand. "HAHAHAHAHAHAH," he cackled, as the transaction confirmation came through on his phone. The money was transferred, and Fadi's smug expression twisted with satisfaction. "Look kid, you're gonna die anyway. I'm still gonna dirty my hands."
Federico remained silent, his face unreadable. Despite the fear that should have been bubbling inside him, there was nothing—just a cold calm. His eyes tracked Fadi's every movement, but he said nothing.
"FADI! WE NEED TO..."
Before he could finish, a loud bang echoed in the warehouse, and Fadi's companion, who had been positioned near a stack of crates, collapsed to the ground with a bullet hole in his back. The sound of gunfire rang out from the distance, and Fadi spun around, his eyes wide with shock.
"What the hell?!" he shouted, turning toward the source of the shot. His companion lay motionless on the floor, blood pooling around him.
Through the cracked windows of the warehouse, the flashing red and blue lights of police cars lit up the night. The officers had made their move.
"Shit!"
Fadi cursed, his grip tightening on his weapon as he searched for a way out. The police were closing in, and his plan was unraveling fast.
Federico, still tied to the chair, let out a slow, steady breath. He hadn't flinched when the shot was fired.
The police stormed into the warehouse, their presence undeniable as the sound of boots echoed across the cold concrete floor. Fadi froze for a split second, his eyes darting around for an escape, but there was nowhere to go. The entire building was surrounded. Officers, their weapons drawn, lined the exits, cutting off any chance of flight.
"Drop your weapon!" a commanding voice shouted from the front.
Fadi's hand tightened around the gun, but his heart was racing. The police were here, and there was no way out. His mind raced with desperate thoughts. He could fight, but it would only be a matter of time before they overwhelmed him. He could still hear the blood pounding in his ears as he weighed his options.
"No one moves!" Fadi snarled, his voice laced with anger and desperation. His aim shifted between Federico and the officers. He wasn't about to let them take him down without a fight, but at the same time, he knew the odds were against him.
Federico, still bound to the chair, glanced over at Fadi with that same unnerving calmness. He could see the fear in Fadi's eyes now, despite the bravado. The tension in the room was palpable, and for the first time, Fadi was the one who seemed vulnerable.
"Drop your weapon, NOW!" the officer barked again, moving closer with the shielded team.
The standoff was tense—each second felt like an eternity. Fadi's grip on the gun began to waver. He could feel the weight of his decisions pressing down on him. There was no more negotiation, no more time. The police were closing in, and it was only a matter of moments before they made their move.
As the tense standoff reached its peak, Fadi's finger tightened around the trigger of his gun, his eyes wild with panic and rage. The officers shouted once more, their voices rising in unison.
"Drop your weapon!"
But Fadi was beyond reasoning. In a frantic, final act of defiance, he whipped his arm toward Federico, aiming the gun directly at his head, his finger twitching in anticipation. His plan was clear—if he was going down, he'd take the kid with him. The chaos around him only spurred on his reckless decision.
"You think you can stop me?" he hissed, almost to himself, as he raised the gun with shaking hands.
In that split second, everything seemed to slow down. The sound of Fadi's gunshot was drowned out by the deafening crack of a police officer's rifle. Time blurred as Fadi's eyes widened, a look of shock flashing across his face.
Before he could pull the trigger, the police shot first.
The bullet struck Fadi's shoulder, sending him sprawling backward, the gun flying from his hand. He collapsed to the floor with a scream of pain, his body twitching as he hit the ground hard.
Federico watched the entire scene unfold, his expression still eerily calm. The officers immediately rushed in, their weapons trained on Fadi, who was now writhing in pain on the floor, unable to fight back.
"Stay down!" one of the officers shouted, approaching carefully as another secured the scene, checking Federico's restraints.
Fadi gritted his teeth in pain, but his defiance wasn't gone yet. He still muttered through clenched teeth, "You think... you've won...?"
The officer stepped forward, pointing his gun at Fadi, making sure he was completely subdued. "You're done," the officer said coldly. "It's over."
Federico stared down at Fadi, his eyes wide—not with fear, but something darker, colder. There was a flicker of something manic in his gaze, a twisted amusement playing at the corners of his mouth as he looked at the man who had just tried to kill him.
His lips parted slightly, almost as if he was about to say something—taunting, maybe even thankful in a sick, ironic way. But before any words left him, he caught the movement of the officer approaching out of the corner of his eye.
In an instant, that unsettling look vanished.
Federico blinked, his expression smoothing into one of calm confusion. His posture slackened, his eyes becoming dull, as though the moment before had never happened. He looked like a frightened college student again—silent, shaken, and grateful to be rescued.
The officer knelt beside him, checking the restraints.
"You okay, son?" the officer asked gently.
Federico nodded slowly, his voice low and measured. "I think so…"
50 minutes later.
Federico lay on the stretcher inside the ambulance, a paramedic carefully tending to the scrapes on his face and checking his vitals. His breathing was steady now, though a lingering tension clung to his frame like static.
Inspector Anderson stood just outside the open doors, notebook in hand. He leaned in, adopting a gentler tone than usual.
"Federico, I know this is a lot, but I need to ask—did you recognize any of them? The kidnappers?"
Federico shook his head, his voice soft and even. "No... never seen them before. Just... voices and the van."
Anderson scribbled something down, glancing up again. "You mentioned knowing your location—how exactly did you figure it out?"
Before Federico could respond, a pair of heels clicked against the pavement behind them. Bella appeared, calm and composed, a faint smirk tugging at her lips.
"Mind if I step in?" she asked, not really waiting for permission as she moved past Anderson and into the ambulance.
Federico's eyes met hers.
"I see you've made quite the impression," she said lightly, almost teasing. "You cracked their plan under pressure. Clever."
Federico shrugged slightly, wincing at the pain. "I just paid attention. That's all."
Bella tilted her head, watching him closely—too closely.
"Mm. Maybe," she replied, her tone unreadable. "But you're not telling me everything."
Anderson looked between them, frowning. "Bella—"
But she raised a hand to silence him, still staring at Federico.
"We'll talk later," she said finally, stepping back with a knowing glance. "Rest up."
And with that, she turned and walked off, leaving both men in stunned silence.
"Who is that Lady?" Federico asked
Anderson glanced back toward where Bella had walked off, then returned his gaze to Federico.
"That's Bella Raine," he said simply. "Independent consultant. Former MI5. She's… complicated."
Federico furrowed his brow. "She looked like she knew more than she let on."
Anderson gave a dry chuckle. "She always does. Don't worry, if she's interested in you, it means she's not done digging."
He shut his notebook and patted the edge of the stretcher.
"Rest. You're safe now… but this is far from over."
Bella came back 30 minutes later
"Rest well?" Bella asked as she stepped closer, her voice calm but edged with something unreadable.
Federico, still hooked up to an IV, looked at her carefully. "Trying to," he replied. "Hard to rest when people keep asking questions."
Bella offered a faint smile, her eyes scanning his face like she was still solving a puzzle. "Good. Keep that edge. You're sharper than you let on."
Federico narrowed his eyes slightly. "So are you."
Bella tilted her head. "That's why I'm here."
She turned to leave without another word, her expression unreadable—professional, cold, but not indifferent.
Federico's eyes flicked toward Bella, his expression unreadable now.
"You schemed all this," Bella said bluntly, arms crossed, her gaze like a scalpel.
Federico didn't answer right away. The slight twitch of his mouth was the only response at first.
Then he exhaled slowly. "I didn't plan to get kidnapped, if that's what you mean."
Bella didn't blink. "But you knew the risk. You left breadcrumbs. You broadcast a code. You counted on us showing up just in time. That's not survival instinct — that's calculation."
Federico gave a half-smile. "Would it matter if I did?"
Bella leaned in just a little. "It matters to me."
"Prove it then?" Federico challenged, eyes narrowed.
Bella scoffed, stepping closer. "If that's what you want... fine." She took a breath, then began with cutting precision:
"Let's rewind. Five days before your so-called kidnapping — you contacted the serial kidnappers anonymously, calling yourself the Boss. Normally, they wouldn't take orders from an unknown, but you offered them a sum so large they couldn't refuse."
She paced slightly as she spoke, her voice unwavering.
"You gave detailed instructions: blow up the store as a distraction, and kidnap you at exactly 8:04. To sell the 'Boss' persona, you used pre-recorded voice messages timed perfectly through a burner phone and a walkie-talkie rigged with advanced code — tech only someone like you could develop."
Federico remained silent, but his eyes flickered with something — recognition, or perhaps admiration.
"But it doesn't stop there." Bella's voice sharpened. "You forged a false identity as the son of a local politician — a man known for his... colourful history. You altered public records to make it seem like you were his illegitimate child. Convenient, since one of his affairs involved a Filipina — just enough truth to make your lie believable."
She stopped pacing, locking eyes with him.
"You orchestrated the broadcast not as a cry for help, but as leverage — to publicly blackmail the man who thought you were his son. And then, with your little coded message, you led us right to your hired criminals. Two birds. One stone."
Bella's expression softened — just slightly — as a smile crept onto her face. "Ah, and I almost forgot the final touch…"
She leaned in.
"The money. The 50 million pounds you extorted? You didn't keep it." Her eyes gleamed. "You redistributed it to the victims — the people that corrupt politician swindled, the families he ruined. Every transaction masked, every recipient tied to his scandals."
She gave a short, amused chuckle. "So that was your plan all along — end the kidnappings, destroy a dirty politician's legacy… and return justice, in your own twisted way."
She tilted her head, eyes still locked on his. "You're not a victim. You're not even a villain. You're something else entirely."
A pause.
"A modern-day Robin Hood — just with a far darker playbook."
Federico paused for a moment… then let out a quiet laugh. "You got me there," he said, smirking faintly. "So… am I getting arrested?"
Bella shook her head, a glint in her eye. "No. I think you might have some potential. There's an opportunity — if you're interested."
But before he could reply, his body swayed. The color drained from his face.
"Oh… it's time," he muttered, eyes blinking slower. "I might… fall asleep…"
Bella stepped forward, concerned but silent.
Federico looked up at her one last time, the calm in his voice now eerie. "Bella… when I wake up, I won't remember any of this. Because when I lose control… when I go insane, I become someone else. This person. The one you're talking to now."
He smirked faintly again, weaker.
"If you're thinking of hiring me as your assistant… good luck persuading the sane me."
Federico lay unconscious on the stretcher, the soft hum of the ambulance filling the air around him. His breathing was steady, peaceful even—completely at odds with the chaos he had orchestrated only hours ago.
Bella stood near the open doors, arms crossed, her expression unreadable. Her sharp eyes remained fixed on the boy—no, the man—who had deceived everyone, including a nation, with flawless precision.
Inspector Anderson approached slowly. "So it's true," he said in a low voice. "He planned it all."
Bella didn't look at him. "Every detail. The fake identity. The fake kidnapping. The broadcast. The money trail. Even the message that led us straight to the kidnappers."
Anderson's gaze hardened as he stared at Federico's still body. "He's dangerous."
Bella's lips curled into a faint smile. "So am I."
That earned a pause from Anderson. "You're not serious. He's unstable. You heard him—he changes when he loses control."
Bella turned her head slightly, eyes glinting. "Unstable doesn't mean useless."
She looked down at Federico. There was something tragic about him. A boy brilliant enough to break a system… but broken enough to forget his own plans when the mask slipped.
"If he wakes up and doesn't remember?" Anderson asked.
Bella shrugged, the corner of her mouth twitching.
"Then I'll make him remember... or I'll wait until he becomes this version again. Either way, he's not going back to normal life. Not after what he's done."
She stepped away from the ambulance, her coat catching the soft breeze of the London morning.
"And if he turns on us?" Anderson called after her.
Bella stopped at the edge of the curb, not looking back. Her voice was calm, almost amused.
"Then we put him down before he builds another broadcast tower."
Anderson watched her go, uncertain if she had just recruited a hero, a villain… or something far more dangerous.
Inside the ambulance, Federico stirred in his sleep—just slightly—his fingers twitching.
Somewhere deep inside, the genius with the eyes of a madman was still awake.
TO BE CONTINUED.....