In the back of the Council vehicle heading towards headquarters, it was ghastly quiet. One of them was knocked out cold, the other one refused to speak a word to the escorts.

The escort guard looked back once in a while. The lights were turned off. He just had a heavy meal courtesy of his team leader and was feeling woozy.

He turned around, the seatbelt tight against his belly. “Hey, you all right there?”

There was no reply.

“Hey.”

There was a sniff, followed by a hiccough.

The guard faced the front and shook his head.

Poor girl. So young to give up her life to an abomination. He had flipped through her file briefly and learned that she was an orphan who was raised by her grandfather and had her sole caretaker, her remaining family member murdered by a cold-blooded employer.

The drinks he had during dinner promoted a sense of philanthropy. He retrieved the sausage roll he bought in the afternoon and held it out to the back. “Look, I’ve got some food here. Do you want some?”

Another hiccough after a short pause, but no reply.

The guard waited for a moment and decided that it was a no. He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes.

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Another hiccough.

Then another.

And another.

He reopened his eyes, a frown forming between his brows. It was getting way too frequent.

Another hiccough.

Louder.

She sounded like she was choking.

The guard fumbled for the lights.

The man was sprawled on his side, still unmoving. The girl was hunched over, gasping and gagging. Black smog shrouded her body.

He hit the alarm switch, and a siren rang out. The high-pitched wail tore the silence of the night as the vehicle sped through the empty highway – a signal welcoming disaster.

The vehicle swerved wildly, tires screeching, and crashed into the divider, throwing the guard against the side door. His head hit the metal railing with a thump.

Another ear-splitting crash followed by a sharp, grating sound. The smell of smoke crept up his nostrils. Vision spinning and partially obscured by thick blood flowing down from his forehead, he was greeted by an unbelievable sight.

Something invisible was ripping the roof of the vehicle apart, exposing the inky sky beyond.

The first thought that crossed his mind was, We’re being hijacked.

It was a ridiculous line of thought – this vehicle belonged to the highest authority of Ilias – yet the unbelievable was happening.

A small figure stood at the edge of the torn roof – a boy no older than eight.

He held out a hand.

The girl floated towards him, her fingers feebly clawing at her neck.

The moment they were at eye level, he plunged a hand into her chest as though it was fluid and drew out a black crystal.

Her head was thrown back, eyes staring at nothingness. A soundless cry escaped her lips. Her body grew limp like a puppet with its strings cut.

The guard fumbled for his communication device. He had to inform headquarters -

The child’s head turned towards him, and for a terrible moment, the guard thought, I’m going to die.

The moment passed. Nothing happened.

The child flicked his wrist. Blackness obscured the guard’s vision.

The charred smell grew stronger.

Then, he felt nothing at all.

The mysterious child let the girl fall.

She hit the floor like a wasted ragdoll, unmoving, hair splayed out in a fan beneath her.