Donald

The rain poured heavily, soaking the dark streets with an icy chill. Donald, barely seventeen, crouched behind a stack of rusted barrels, his chest heaving as he fought to steady his breathing.

His hands gripped a steel pipe tightly, the cold metal biting into his palms. The sound of laughter and jeering echoed from the dilapidated warehouse ahead. Inside, his sister and little brother were held captive.

His body ached, bruises forming from the earlier struggle to even reach this far. But he couldn't stop now. Failure wasn't an option, not when his family depended on him.

He peeked around the corner, his heart sinking as he took in the scene. Four men lounged near the center of the warehouse, all armed.

One had a crowbar, another a knife, while the rest had guns slung lazily over their shoulders. Beyond them, in the shadows, his sister sat huddled on the ground, tied to a post.