Chapter 2

17 years ago.

I was in my room studying for a maths test when I heard some sort of commotion downstairs. My seven year old self didnt know that what she would see would be haunt her forever by deciding to go see what the ruckus was. There, I saw them harassing my mom. She cried and begged them to let her go. They tied my dad to a chair and made him watch the heinous atrocities they did to my mom. He screamed for them to stop and even pleaded that they harm him instead of his wife but those bastards did not have an atom of mercy in them. I watched from afar. I knew I was too young to think about going there to fight those men so I just watched them torment my parents till they were basically begging them to have mercy but they weren't moved. While I stood at the corner, watching everything unfold before my very eyes. My mom was naked and in tears after they raped her in front of dad who looked so useless at that point. The most respected people I knew had been reduced to this. As I was sobbing in my hiding spot, I heard my mom scream, I took a peek. Only to see her with a knife being forced into her chest and pulled out. She went limp and fell to the ground. The one who seemed to be the head of them took a gun and shot her, finishing the work. My dad started cry as he looked at his dead wife lying stiff with blood seeping out of her wounds. I tried to keep my screams in , not to blow off my cover. My dad cried like a child. Once I saw them pointing the gun at him with smiles on their on their lips, I knew he was next. Then "pow!" the gun sent a bullet into his head. Leaving him with absolutely no shot at survival. "Look for their child. We can't leave a Sullivan alive", the leader commanded. I run up the stairs and went to the artic and hid in the dark stuffy and dusty room. They won't suspect I am hear.

I heard a number of gunshots here and there. "Where is that stupid girl?" I heard a deep voice say. I remained hidden behind the boxes waiting for fate to close its hands on me.

I woke up feeling so exhausted. The weight of sleeplessness bore down on me like a heavy shroud. Memories, like ghostly apparitions, haunted the corridors of my mind, refusing to grant me respite. Those nightmares, cruel echoes of the past, served as a relentless reminder that I must unearth the perpetrators and exact my own brand of justice. My mind and soul remained entangled in a ceaseless struggle, refusing to find peace until this solitary mission was accomplished.

The clock struck 5:00 in the morning, and with a heavy sigh, I surrendered to the predawn solitude. My journey into the realm of Van Pelt's enigma commenced at my computer. The soft glow of the monitor illuminated my determined gaze as I delved into the digital labyrinth, seeking to unravel the layers of a man whose wealth hid secrets untold. Van Pelt, a businessman draped in opulence, boasted a net worth of ninety-eight billion dollars. Yet, the question lingered like an elusive specter – what could he possibly desire from Blood Moon with riches cascading through his fingers? The internet's portrait of him remained incomplete, leaving gaps to be filled with the mysteries hidden in the shadows.

As the sun ascended, its rays filtered through the blinds, kissing my face with an intensity that threatened to sear my skin. Hastily, I drew the curtain, creating a shield against the intrusive warmth. The day beckoned, and my journey downstairs awaited – a rendezvous with Leon's characteristic absurdity. The enticing aroma of Leon's culinary experiment greeted me, tantalizing my senses and coaxing a joyous rumble from my stomach. Following the fragrance like a compass needle, I navigated to the kitchen, where Giovanni sat amidst a tableau of pancakes. Leon, with a mischievous grin, greeted me, "Hello grumpy Andi, how was your night?"

Seated at the table, I poured a steaming cup of tea, the swirling dance of milk and sugar an alchemical concoction. "Restless," I confessed, "but let's not dwell on it. Giovanni, how is Sarah?" Giovanni's response, delivered with a hint of his Italian heritage, carried the warmth of a familiar melody. He was more than our tech maestro; he was the custodian of our cyber sanctuary, a friend steadfast in loyalty. Unlike Leon's flamboyance, Giovanni embodied wisdom, his presence a reassuring anchor in the storm of our chaotic lives. "She is fine. She made me some good dinner yesterday."

The topic shifted to Van Pelt, his name a harbinger of both challenge and intrigue. Leon proposed a daring move – sending a visual ultimatum in the form of the street hackers' lifeless bodies. A sly smile crept onto my face, though a whisper of concern lingered – could such audacity leave us exposed? Giovanni reassured me with a pat on the shoulder, his voice deepening, resonating with a sinister allure. "Leave it to me," he proclaimed. A moment of camaraderie ensued, an alliance forged in the crucible of our shared endeavors. "You sound so evil, Gio," Leon teased. Giovanni responded with a wink, his demeanor a blend of enigma and confidence. The afternoon unfolded with intense training and weapon trials, each moment a brushstroke on the canvas of our preparedness.

Post-exertion, a shower served as a baptism, washing away the physical residue of our efforts. Ready for any adversary, I returned to my office, the echoes of past voices whispering in my ears. The imperative "We can't leave a Sullivan alive" reverberated, compelling a pilgrimage to my parents' house in search of elusive clues. Gunshots punctuated the air, an unwelcome symphony of chaos. Leon burst into my office, breathless, "We are under attack, boss." The imminent threat ignited a spark, fanning the flames of determination within me.