Break her down.

The narrow corridor felt like a tomb, the pale lights overhead flickering intermittently, casting eerie shadows on the walls. Sherry's footsteps echoed down the cold concrete floor as she passed the holding cells, each lined with steel bars and flickering red lights. The captives inside sat motionless, their faces a mixture of despair and defiance. Some leaned against the wall, others curled into themselves, trying to shield their broken spirits. It had been five days since Sherry was dragged into The Basement, the infamous underground lair of The Bone lake Syndicate, a sprawling mafia organization that traded in secrets, power—and human lives.

She'd spent two of those days in an isolation room, a punishment she was told would ‘teach her to behave.’ But she knew the real reason—they were trying to break her down before branding her, marking her like they did every other captive in this place. It was the same warning she’d heard from Raphael, her cellmate. The branding was a sign of ownership, a permanent scar that declared you belonged to the Bone lake family, your body just another commodity to be sold off to the highest bidder. Sherry's heart had raced when she saw the blood dripping from the branded captives in their torn black clothing, marking their inevitable fate.

Her mind reeled with the nightmarish cries that pierced the cold halls, screams that didn't stop at night or during the day. Time had ceased to exist in this concrete prison; morning, noon, and night blended into a never-ending sequence of horror. Each guard who patrolled the hallways seemed to wield absolute power, demanding favors, whispering threats, and ensuring no one ever left The Basement without paying the ultimate price—whether with their body, their soul, or their life.

Sherry had been careful, keeping her head down, making herself as invisible as possible. Every time the guards called for ‘favors,’ she blended into the crowd, dodging the lecherous gazes and keeping a low profile. But the brand was inevitable, and Sherry knew she needed to escape before it was burned into her skin like an iron chain that would forever keep her tied to the Bone lake Syndicate.

That’s why today was crucial. She had managed to sneak out of the communal bath where the other captives gathered—another way to humiliate them, strip away any sense of dignity they still had left. Her body trembled from the icy water that had rolled down her skin, but her resolve kept her focused. Raphael had whispered the plan—get her name on the list—the list of captives scheduled for transport in two days, to be sold to another syndicate or cartel. It was her only way out of this nightmare, a slim chance at freedom before the brand sealed her fate.

As Sherry walked down the corridor, steam still rising from her damp hair, a tall male captive passed her, shoving her shoulder roughly. He didn’t apologize, merely turned his head to smirk, a twisted grin on his face that spoke volumes. Sherry resisted the urge to glare back, her instincts telling her to stay focused. She blended back into the crowd of captives, keeping her head low as the guards glanced over them. Every face, every movement was scrutinized for signs of defiance.

The Basement had its own hierarchy of suffering—veterans who had been here long enough to establish dominance, and fresh captives like Sherry who were easy prey. She had learned quickly where not to go, which corners of the building the guards rarely patrolled, where the powerful captives set their traps. Survival here meant more than just staying alive—it meant staying unseen.

Slipping out of line, Sherry moved stealthily down another hallway. Her destination was the records room, a place guarded night and day. It housed every captive's file—birth records, debts, criminal charges, and most importantly, their sales schedule. Without getting her name on that list, she would be stuck here, branded, and sold to the most sadistic bidders within the syndicate. But the guard at the door was a problem. He towered like a statue, arms folded, eyes scanning the hallway for any sign of trouble. There would be no sneaking past him, not without a distraction.

Sherry bit her lip, weighing her options, just as another guard’s heavy boots clanged against the metal floors from down the hallway. Panicked, she darted back into the shadows, merging once again with the line of captives exiting the bath.

Back in her cramped cell, Sherry sat with her head in her hands, her elbows resting on her knees. "There’s a guard outside the records room," she whispered to Raphael, who lay on the ground picking at the split ends of her hair.

"There are guards everywhere," Raphael replied lazily, her tone apathetic. She had been here for months—long enough to lose any spark of hope. "You can’t just walk in and expect them to let you waltz into the heart of the syndicate’s operations."

"Have you ever tried to escape?" Sherry asked, desperate for guidance.

Raphael shrugged, barely looking up. "A few times. But you don’t get far unless you know exactly what you’re doing. They’ve built this place to keep people in, not out."

Sherry groaned, running her hands through her damp hair. "I need help. Please."

Raphael sighed, rolling onto her side to face Penny. "Help you, huh? Do you have any idea what happens if they catch us? You’re not the only one who’ll pay. They’ll make sure I suffer too, and I’ve had enough suffering for a lifetime."

Sherry began to cry softly, stifling her sobs, but her shoulders shook. At first, Raphael ignored her, assuming it would pass, as it always did. But Sherry's sobs grew louder, breaking the heavy silence of the cell. Annoyed, Raphael cursed under her breath.

"Stop crying!" Raphael again snapped, irritated. "Fine. I’ll help you, just shut up."

Sherry immediately stopped, raising her head. Not a single tear stained her face. "Really?"

Raphael glared, narrowing her eyes. "You little actress."

Sherry grinned sheepishly. "I’m desperate."

Sherry shook her head, rising to her feet. "You’re going to get us both killed, but let’s get this over with."

Together, they slipped out of the cell and into the dimly lit corridor. Sherry followed close behind, her heart hammering in her chest. The cold concrete walls felt like they were closing in on her as they crept toward the records room. Raphael's eyes darted from shadow to shadow, looking for any sign of the guards.

When they arrived, Raphael paused, pulling Sherry into a small alcove. "Stay quiet. The warden makes his rounds twice a day. You don’t want to be caught by him. He enjoys breaking people in ways you can't imagine." Her voice dropped, her words laced with dark undertones. "If he finds you, it won’t be physical. He’ll break your mind."

Sherry shuddered but nodded. This was her only shot.

As they neared the door to the records room, Raphael shifted her demeanor, her sultry swagger taking over as she approached the guard standing at his post. He eyed her suspiciously, but she batted her eyelashes and leaned against the wall.

"Guard duty must be tough," she purred. "Standing here all alone, don’t you get tired?"

The guard grunted, trying to keep his composure. "You shouldn’t be here. Get back to your cell."

Raphael pouted, brushing her fingers against the guard’s arm. "Come on, don’t be so harsh."

Sherry held her breath, watching from the shadows. This was her moment. As the guard’s attention was drawn to Raphael, Sherry slipped silently through the door, entering the records room. The space was cluttered with files, old papers scattered across every surface. The dim light flickered above, barely illuminating the room.

She scanned the stacks quickly, searching for anything that looked familiar. Finally, she found the ledger—the list of names and sales dates. Grabbing a pen, she scribbled her name at the bottom of the list, praying it would go unnoticed.

With her heart racing, she slipped back out of the room just as Raphael finished her distraction, walking away from the guard with a sultry smile. Together, they hurried back to their cell, their mission accomplished.

Two days later, as Sherry sat waiting in her cell, a guard came for her. Her pulse quickened, her palms sweating as she was led down the narrow stairs and out to the waiting transport van. Bound and blindfolded, she was shoved into the back with other captives, their fates uncertain.

But for Sherry, this was just the beginning. The black market awaited, and in the heart of the mafia's twisted world, freedom was never guaranteed.