My Hidden Detective's

Chapter 41

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Breath is heavy.

His hands hurt, it was hard for him to move when his legs were tied.

He was Afiza, a little boy who was sitting on a chair with his whole body tied up with a rope.

Very heinous.

It was obvious that the scratches on Afiza's face, her mouth still covered with duct tape, tears were not stopping.

Fiza shaking.

She's afraid.

Anyone help him.

Staring at the three guards before him alone had made his heart thump.

Not to mention the pain at the end of his thumb that feels sore, because the tip of the thumb was ignited by two cigarettes earlier.

Only Fiza is in this room, because the rest of the children have been brought in black boxes.

Don't know.

I don't know, Fiza also doesn't understand why she's the only one left.

"Bos said we should kill this little girl, now!" Say one of them.

Fiza finally knew, why was she the only one left?

Because he's the only one who's gonna be killed, he's the only kid who's gonna die.

Fear enveloped Fiza's entire body, she would never forget how the man's tone spoke so easily about determining Fiza's life and death.

What's the little boy's fault? He just lives school life, goes home, and eats, sleeps and plays.

What is his sin that he should be stranded in this abominable place? Forcing his ears open to hear the plot about his own murder.

He's just a kid. But it must feel death approaching from second to second.

A child who knows nothing.

Human on why the hell?

Has man replaced the work of the devil? It feels like man himself is more vile than the devil whose evil has been legendary everywhere.

"Can't, there's someone else here. Maybe it's the police." Deny any of them.

"He's still upstairs, right? He's still inside, maybe there's still his team."

Fiza closed her eyes, the fear that made her shiver could blow away the pain that her body was experiencing. Though Fiza's own uniform has been torn because it has just been flogged with vile.

Fiza wasn't crying, though,

It was not that she did not want to cry, she simply held back her tears, making sure her mouth did not let out a ringing.

Or as usual, Fiza will be slapped if she makes a sound. The last time Fiza was slapped, blood came out of her nose. And it was very painful, it also hurt the little boy's lips.

Even Fiza's hair that was originally quite long, was now very short like a boy, she was completely toyed with, she was completely tortured, her physical and psychic.

A madman.

The culprits are psychopaths, they're crazy.

Fiza wanted to scream, calling out to whoever was in the room up there. But he knew, before the man could help him, Fiza would die first.

How does it feel to die?

Thinking about it on the mattress while staring at the ceiling of the room is probably the wishful thinking of many people.

But, what if that question pops into Fiza's head at the moment.

How does it feel to die?

The question that is now present in the head of a little child, whose body is covered with wounds, bound, tortured, and in front of him there are vile people who are ready to kill him at any time.

What it feels like.

Imagining it made Fiza look horrified.

He's almost crazy right now.

His body was already shivering as he imagined the pain he would receive later.

"No more noise." Said one of them.

"You two go upstairs, check things out, I'll stay here with this boy. If he's ready to shoot, drop the threat, we'll kill this kid if he dares to fuck around."

"Good."

Two people walked away to the top door, the secret door on the floor of the house. While the rest of them guard Fiza who sits weakly here, with a gun on Fiza's head.

"Police or Detective?"

The kidnapper remained vigilant, he glanced at the frightened Fiza, his eyes constantly shedding tears.

"It's a pity that the one chosen to die is you, when if you grow up you must be very beautiful, and very satisfying if you're in bed, right boy?"

Maddened.

This crazy bastard is completely insane.

Very uncivilized.

How could he say such a crazy thing in front of a child who didn't even know anything.

The man licked his own lips pervertedly, he looked at the tiny Fiza with lust.

Bukh!!!

Someone kicked the man before he managed to touch the tiny Fiza.

She is Sandra.

Sandra came in from the other door, Sandra immediately paralyzed the man with the dope she always carried with her.

"Shut up and say, I'll torture you later, you fucking asshole!"

Sandra handcuffed the kidnapper's hands. Slowly he fell asleep without saying anything more, even before he could call his comrades for help.

Sandra glanced at Fiza.

Grumpily,

sick, sick,

congested,

Sandra did not commit any will, but it felt like she was filled with sin because it took a long time for her to save this boy.

Sandra pulled her index finger, she stuck it on her lips, a gesture for Fiza to remain calm, and silent, for the rest of Sandra to take care of everything.

Fiza nodded though it was a bit difficult. Although somewhat frightened, he was a little calmer, as there was someone helping him, who was standing by his side now.

Sandra walked slowly, hiding behind the stairs, where the stairs were connecting the basement with the door leading to the hut.

Sandra was silent, calm, as footsteps rang out on the stairs, they must have been walking towards the bottom.

Dor Dor Dor!!

Not yet had they standby, Sandra had attacked them with three shots, two shots in one body, shoulder and stomach. One more shot in the body of the other perpetrator, in the leg, so Sandra can paralyze both.

One of the perpetrators who was hit by a stomach shot immediately sat down, could not get up again, to move was very difficult for him, his shoulder was also painful.

"Arghh shit!!"

"Detective bastard!!"

Dor's!

One shot, the perpetrator landed. The perpetrator, who was only shot in the leg, was still able to move and walk a little.

Not for Sandra

But for Fiza who was still sitting bound with fear.

Sandra ran as fast as she could, until the bullet ended up landing in her stomach.

The shot hit Sandra.

Dor's!

One shot Sandra gave to the perpetrator who is now trying to run, the shot hit his back. And just then Sandra also fell on the floor, with one hand holding her stomach where she was shot.

The gun was empty, the bullet was gone, he had no more weapons.

The man, with wounds on his legs and back, tried to run limping. It seemed like his desire to live was very strong.