Chapter 13

Sylvia leaned back in her chair, watching the chat feed on her livestream scroll by. Most of it was the usual mix of conspiracy theories, support for her podcast, and random chatter, but one comment stood out, catching her attention. "Saw a van coming out of the docks. Looked like kids in cages inside. Something weird's going on." Sylvia’s brow furrowed as she read it again. The username, KarenIsRight, seemed almost too perfect for the nosy tone, but something about the message tugged at her instincts.

She had learned to filter out the noise, but this sounded different. “Kids in cages?” she muttered to herself, leaning forward to type a quick response in the chat. “What do you mean, exactly? What did you see?” The user responded almost immediately. "A van cut me off coming out of there. Couldn’t see much before the gate closed, but it looked like kids inside."

Sylvia’s mind raced as she leaned back in her chair, her fingers drumming against the desk. She’d heard rumors about the Quechua gang operating near the docks, but kids in cages? This could be more than just a random tip. She wrapped up the stream for the night, thanking her audience and signing off. Even if this was just another dead end, she couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling that this might be

worth checking out.

Her cat, Jason Meowmoa, padded up to her, meowing loudly. Sylvia glanced down at him. “What do you think, Meowmoa?” she asked, scratching behind his ear. “Should I check it out?” In response, the fluffy cat turned around, flashed her his butthole, and trotted toward the door, meowing again before darting over to his food dish.

Sylvia sighed. “Fine, I’ll take that as a yes.”

She shook her head, smirking at Meowmoa's antics. “You’re always so helpful,” she muttered, standing up from the couch. The TV murmured in the background, but her mind was already elsewhere. The more she thought about that comment, the harder it was to shake the nagging feeling in her gut. The username seemed almost sarcastic, but kids in cages? Even if it was a stretch, she couldn’t ignore it. She paced for a moment, weighing her options. It was late, and the docks weren’t exactly the safest place, but something about the whole situation just felt off.

Meowmoa meowed again, more insistently this time, as if urging her to get moving. “Alright, alright,” Sylvia sighed, grabbing her jacket and slipping her phone into her pocket. “Guess we’re going on an adventure, huh?”

Meowmoa watched her for a moment, then, satisfied that dinner was imminent, returned to his food dish. Sylvia chuckled as she grabbed her keys. “Don’t wait up.”

Sylvia drove through the quiet streets, the hum of the engine filling the silence as she made her way toward the docks. The city felt different at this hour, the usual buzz of traffic replaced by an eerie calm. Streetlights flickered occasionally, casting long shadows across the road as she passed rows of warehouses and industrial lots. She kept her eyes on the road, but her mind was racing with possibilities. Maybe it was nothing, just another dead-end tip. But if there was even a chance it wasn’t...

As she approached the district near the docks, the buildings grew more rundown, the streets darker, less inviting. Sylvia spotted a small parking lot tucked between two decrepit buildings and pulled in, easing her car into a shadowy corner. She killed the engine and took a deep breath, scanning her surroundings. No movement—good. She didn’t want to draw any attention. “Alright,” she whispered to herself, slipping her phone into her jacket pocket. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”

Sylvia stepped out of the car, the crisp night air hitting her as she quietly shut the door. She pulled her jacket tight around her, trying to blend into the shadows as she made her way toward the warehouse district. The faint sound of waves lapping against the dock in the distance was the only thing that broke the silence. As she walked, her senses were on high alert—every flicker of a streetlight, every distant noise felt magnified. The towering shapes of the warehouses loomed ahead, their windows dark, giving nothing away. She knew she was getting close.

She rounded a corner, spotting a rusted fence ahead. This had to be the place mentioned in the comment. Sylvia scanned the area for any sign of activity, her pulse quickening. There were figures moving near the entrance, shadows shifting just out of view. She crouched down, inching forward cautiously, staying close to the walls. Her phone was ready in her pocket, the screen dimmed as she planned her next move.

Sylvia crept closer, keeping her body low as she studied the scene. Five men were patrolling the perimeter, casually walking the fence line, their movements unhurried, almost bored. She could see one of them standing a little farther off, away from the others, leaning against the wall with a cigarette in hand, his attention more focused on his phone than his surroundings. The place wasn’t heavily guarded, but it wasn’t abandoned either. Her gut told her this wasn’t just a coincidence—there was something going on here. Something more than just some late-night shift work.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

She glanced around, searching for an entry point. The rusted fence looked like it hadn’t been maintained in years, patches of metal twisted and broken. Her eyes landed on a small tear near the bottom, just wide enough for her to slip through. She took a deep breath, steeling herself, then moved toward it, her heart pounding in her chest.

Sylvia crouched down, checking the patrolmen’s movements one last time before slipping through the tear in the fence. The metal scratched against her jacket, but she kept her movements slow and steady, making sure not to make any noise. Once she was on the other side, she pressed herself against the side of the building, the cold concrete sending a chill through her. She paused, holding her breath, listening for any signs that she’d been spotted. The guards continued their lazy patrol, oblivious to her presence.

She let out a slow exhale, relief washing over her. She was in. But this was only the beginning. The warehouse loomed ahead, its windows dark and ominous. She needed to find a way inside without drawing attention. Sylvia pulled out her phone, dimming the screen even further, and snapped a quick photo of the perimeter. Evidence. If things went south, she wanted to make sure she had something to show for it.

Sylvia moved along the edge of the building, staying low and out of sight. She could hear muffled voices from inside the warehouse, but the walls were too thick to make out what they were saying. Her eyes scanned the structure, searching for any opening she could use to get in. That’s when she spotted it—an old, rusty ladder leading up to a second-floor window, its frame partially cracked but still intact. She hesitated for a moment, eyeing the ladder warily. It didn’t look stable, but it was her best shot.

With a quiet breath, Sylvia grabbed the cold metal rungs and pulled herself up, trying to ignore the groaning sound the ladder made under her weight. Each step felt like it might be her last, but she kept moving, her eyes fixed on the dark window above. When she reached the top, she carefully slid the window open just enough to slip through, landing quietly on the dusty floor inside.

Sylvia crouched low on the dusty floor, taking a moment to steady her breath. The air inside the warehouse was thick with the smell of mildew and something else—something darker that she couldn’t quite place. She scanned the room. The second floor was mostly empty, aside from a few broken crates and stacks of old equipment pushed against the walls. Below, she could hear faint voices and the occasional clink of metal, but it was still hard to make out what they were saying.

Carefully, she crept forward, inching toward the railing overlooking the main floor of the warehouse. Her heart pounded in her chest as she finally got a clear view. There, beneath her, were rows of metal cages—just like the commenter had described. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw them, the reality of the situation hitting her like a punch to the gut. This wasn’t just some abandoned warehouse. There were kids down there.

Sylvia's hands trembled as she reached for her phone, dimming the screen even further before snapping a few quick photos. There were only four kids here, but the sight was no less horrifying. In the first cage, closest to her, a 14-year-old girl was standing, hands gripping the bars, shouting angrily in Spanish at the Quechua gang members below. She was furious, her voice echoing in the warehouse, defiant in the face of her captors. The anger in her eyes burned through the fear.

In the cage next to her were three smaller children, elementary-aged, huddled together, wide-eyed with terror. They didn’t have the strength to fight or even cry, their faces dirty, their clothes torn. Sylvia snapped photo after photo, her heart aching with each click. Her eyes drifted to the far side of the room, where a pile of backpacks lay in a messy heap—at least forty of them. Each backpack represented a child who had been taken through this place, a silent testament to the scale of the operation.

Sylvia knew she had stumbled onto something far bigger than just these four kids. The backpacks told a much darker story.

Sylvia's mind raced as she took in the full scope of the scene below. She knew she needed more than just photos—she needed to get out of here with everything intact. Her breathing was shallow as she zoomed in on the guards. Fourteen Quechua members were scattered around the warehouse floor, some casually leaning against the walls, others talking quietly near the cages. One of them, who seemed to be in charge, stood apart, his eyes sweeping over the room with a cold detachment. He didn’t look like someone who’d hesitate to pull the trigger if things went sideways.

She swallowed hard and carefully positioned herself to take more pictures. The money and drugs stacked on pallets in the corner added another layer to the horror—this wasn’t just about the kids. The Quechua gang was running a full-scale trafficking and smuggling operation. Sylvia snapped a few more photos of the cash and drugs before retreating slightly from the edge of the railing, her mind still racing.

With the messages sent, Sylvia slipped her phone back into her jacket and took a deep breath. She scanned the room once more, making sure she hadn’t been spotted. The guards still seemed unaware of her presence, but she knew it wouldn’t stay that way for long if she didn’t move carefully. Her mind raced as she considered her next move. Hiding here until Grayson or Andreas arrived seemed like the best option, but every minute felt like an eternity, and the thought of leaving those kids behind gnawed at her.

She looked around the dimly lit second floor, searching for a safe place to hide. There, near the far corner, she spotted a cluster of broken crates and old machinery. It wasn’t much, but it would give her enough cover. Keeping low, she made her way across the room, careful not to make a sound as the faint murmurs of the guards drifted up from below.

Sylvia settled into her hiding spot, crouching behind the crates, her pulse still racing. She considered dialing 911, but the thought was quickly dismissed. Everyone knew the LAPD steered clear of the Quechua; even a distress call about kidnapped kids wouldn’t bring them running. She clenched her jaw, frustration bubbling up inside her. All she could do now was wait. The dim light from the warehouse flickered, casting eerie shadows on the walls. Every second felt like an hour as she silently willed Grayson or Andreas to arrive. The quiet murmur of the guards below continued, but the weight of what she’d uncovered pressed down on her. The kids needed help, and all she could do was hope that someone—anyone—would get there soon.