Bring back my child! (short fiction)

Yes, this is Benson's mansion. The new mansion – she had never been in it. With a maternal instinct, Nilda felt that the child was here. Of course, it was here: where else would you keep a kidnapped child, if not in a reliable and secure hideout?

The building, poorly lit and barely distinguishable among the trees, loomed as an impregnable giant. It still needed to be approached: the mansion's grounds were surrounded by a four-meter-high lattice fence. The bars of the lattice ended in sharp points painted white. Nilda wasn't sure if the points were sharpened – one had to assume the opposite.

Pulling up the collar of her cloak to avoid being recognized by cameras, Nilda walked along the fence towards the park. There, the likelihood of running into witnesses was lower.

It was getting dark. There were few people willing to stroll through the park at night. A few latecomers passed by, but they were random passersby hurrying to leave the desolate spot. In themselves, random passersby are not dangerous. When encountering them, Nilda lowered her head, although it was impossible to recognize her in the deepening darkness. Furthermore, she was wearing glasses that made her face unrecognizable.

Reaching the intersection, Nilda stopped, supposedly in hesitation, and quickly glanced around. There were no people, no cars either. Two streetlights lit up, illuminating two electric circles from the approaching twilight. One could only hope that security cameras were not installed at the intersection. They are usually installed in the darkest and least populated areas of the fence, but not at the intersection.

"You will return my child, Benson!" Nilda said to herself.

Self-suggestion was unnecessary: she was already furious.

In an instant, Nilda shrugged off her cloak, tossing it into a nearby bin. The bin contained rags of exactly the same color, so the cloak wouldn't attract anyone's attention. She would take it back this way. In any other case, finding Nilda based on the discarded cloak would be impossible. The cloak was new, bought an hour ago at the nearest boutique.

Under the cloak, she wore a black bodysuit made of special reflective fabric. The likelihood of being detected by surveillance cameras in reflective fabric is much lower. Unfortunately, it's impossible to become completely invisible to the cameras.

Nilda bent her flexible body in a form-fitting black outfit and jumped onto the grate, grabbing onto it with her hands and pressing her feet, clad in soft sneakers, against the bars. Grabbing with her hands and feet, she quickly reached the top of the fence, where the sharp points awaited. Indeed: they were sharpened like combat daggers! Fortunately, there was no electric current flowing: probably because the place is crowded. They likely just hesitated.

Grabbing the extensions at the ends of the spikes, Nilda pushed off sharply with her legs and performed a handstand. Then she flipped her body back and released her hands. Hanging for a few moments in the air, her delicate figure did not fall to the ground from a height of four meters but caught the bars with her crossed legs. Nilda straightened up and slid down the bars, immediately dropping to the ground and listening intently.

Quiet. It seems they didn't notice her. At least not yet.

Behind the fence, not far from her, the city continued its evening life. But right now, Nilda was not interested in the city, but in the mansion of her ex-husband. As Nilda slid down the bars of the grate, the lights in the mansion turned on: lanterns on the paths and lamps on the porch. The floodlights illuminating the building from the outside were absent: the owner did not want to attract unnecessary attention.

Like a flexible shadow, Nilda glided from the grate to the mansion and hid in the unlit bushes. She needed to take care of the guards, who were surely present.

A man descended from the porch, dressed in civilian clothes. From his posture, Nilda understood he was a former military. The soldier walked along the mansion, turned to the wall, and addressed someone. Only then did Nilda notice a guard hiding in the shadows. After exchanging a few words with the guard, the soldier—now Nilda had no doubt he was the sergeant on duty—continued his tour of the mansion and soon disappeared around the corner.

Taking advantage of his absence, Nilda pulled a stiletto from the handbag secured to her side and slithered like a snake through the grass. With an animal instinct, she sensed the moments when the guard's attention waned, making quick dashes and stopping when the guard, leaning against the wall, lazily scanned the park area around the mansion. The chief of the guard was inspecting the posts on the other side of the mansion — Nilda hoped no one was monitoring the screens at that moment. Of course, she could be mistaken. In that case, she hoped for the spandex made of reflective fabric.

There were about twenty meters left to the guard, but those meters were the most dangerous. The guard was still in the shadows. Nilda couldn’t see his face and couldn’t rise up to get a better look. At the same time, she couldn’t sneak around the guard from the side, as other guards were on the opposite side of the façade. There were a total of about four people, evidently.

Time was running out, and Nilda made up her mind. She sprang to her feet and made a swift leap forward, right at the guard. From the shadows emerged a surprised face and the muzzle of a rifle, slowly rising upwards, but that moment was enough. Nilda threw the stiletto, and it plunged into the guard's throat.

“This is for my child!” Nilda said, finally slashing the guard's throat.

The guard was not to blame for the child's abduction, but Nilda was enraged.

There were two ways to get inside the mansion. First, one could cut the glass in the basement and immediately start searching. However, Nilda preferred the second way: first deal with the guards. The stabbed guard would be discovered soon; then finding the child would become more difficult. The rational decision was to wait until the chief of security finished his round and returned through the front door inside the mansion. According to Nilda's calculations, he had about ten seconds left before his return. The security room was surely at the entrance. If the guards were neutralized, there would be no one left to protect the inhabitants of the mansion.

Deciding this way, Nilda slipped to the porch and froze in a crouch, like a beast ready to pounce. She didn’t take the guard's firearm, preferring to act with a silent stiletto. A year after giving birth, Nilda had fully recovered and was unaware of her body, obedient and swift. With the right skills, cold weapons are much more reliable than firearms.

As Nilda had anticipated, the squad leader, having circled the building, appeared from the opposite facade. Nilda waited, crouched by the porch.

The squad leader climbed onto the porch and pulled the heavy two-meter door toward himself to enter. At that moment, a vague shadow darted from somewhere under the porch. The shadow pricked the squad leader in the back with something sharp. He wanted to cry out in pain but couldn't: it turned out that the shadow's other hand was choking him. A blade flashed, and the squad leader choked on warm salty liquid.

Nilda grabbed the corpse by the hair and dragged it inside the mansion, using it to block the entrance.

Indeed: the guard room is to the left of the grand staircase. Nilda took a second stiletto from her purse and glided toward the room. The guards are expecting the return of the commander—their reaction to the door opening won’t be immediate. Unless, of course, a camera is installed directly at the entrance, and Nilda has already been discovered.

With stilettos in both hands, Nilda kicked the door. Five. Three of them, engaged in lively conversation, were bent over a laptop. The fourth was making coffee. The fifth was behind the monitors, but he was turned away and couldn’t see who entered. Each had a holster under their arm. In the corner was a metal cabinet—apparently for weapons. But the cabinet was surely locked: it would take time to unlock it. Two of the three bent over the laptop lifted their heads, and the expressions on their faces began to change slowly...

Nilda rushed towards the nearest person working with the coffee machine and slashed his face. The man screamed, clutching his wound, but Nilda no longer paid him any attention: she'd finish him off later. She lunged at the two others by the laptop, attempting to grab the guns. She took down the first one almost immediately, stabbing him under the ribs with a stiletto. The second recoiled and struck Nilda's arm, but not strongly enough — he couldn't knock the stiletto away. Nilda made a feint. The opponent reacted and fell for it, getting a stiletto in the jaw. The blow was delivered from below, with the tip raised towards the ceiling, penetrating his throat. The third opponent had finally regained his senses and also managed to grab a gun, but Nilda knocked it away with a side kick. The gun flew against the wall. However, the opponent didn't run after the gun, which Nilda had hoped for, but instead turned and kicked her in the thigh with a boot reinforced with iron. Nilda gasped and, straightening up, stabbed the scoundrel in the stomach with her stiletto. The stiletto pierced through his muscles and got stuck in his spine.

Without looking further, Nilda lunged at the last remaining unscathed enemy. He barely turned in his chair and opened his mouth, presumably to scream. Nilda sealed his mouth with a knee strike, along with the sound of crunching teeth. The enemy's head flew into the monitors, and he didn't even flinch when Nilda slit his throat. Then she dealt with the remaining ones, still breathing, and retrieved the second stiletto from the corpse's stomach. She would need the stiletto again.

“You picked the wrong person,” Nilda said to the lifeless bodies. “You should have thought about who to abduct a child from.”

Then Nilda turned off the monitors and alarm and peeked into the entrance hall. It was quiet in the hall. However, her thigh, after being struck by the boot, was aching. There would probably be a bruise the size of half her leg: but that was nothing, she had been through worse. Right now, it was more important to figure out where Benson was keeping the child.

Nilda, still limping, climbed the stairs to the second floor and found herself in front of a series of hotel-like rooms. No, they were too uniform — the owner was surely living farther away, in more secluded and unique accommodations.

Hiding a second stiletto, now unnecessary, in her handbag, Nilda glided further down the corridor. She was nearly knocked over by a girl who burst out of a room. From her attire, Nilda realized: a maid. With a swift motion, the girl was sent flying back into the room. Nilda followed, stiletto in hand.

Aside from the maid, there was no one else in the room. The girl opened her mouth to scream, but Nilda struck her in the stomach, causing the girl to gasp for air.

– Where is the child? – Nilda asked, filled with rage at the thought of the child.

– There, in the master's office… – the girl stammered, breathing like a fish thrown ashore by a storm.

– Where's the office?

– Further down the corridor, in the right wing.

Nilda knocked the maid unconscious with a punch, then added a few more for good measure. There was no time to tie her up, and if she remained conscious, the maid could scream and draw attention. At another time, Nilda might have felt pity, but right now, with the child at stake, she couldn't take any risks. No one would marry a woman with broken teeth, but otherwise, she would recover.

So, Benson's office was in the right wing. Nilda rushed down the corridor. A fork ahead. Right wing… likely, that's where it is. It seemed plausible: the doors were massive, made of valuable wood – evident by their color and texture.

Nilda flung open the door, prepared to confront an additional guard. But there was no security in the right wing. In the spot where she expected to find a guard, there was a table with a vase. The vase held fresh flowers – orchids. A delicate fragrance wafted from the orchids. Beyond stretched a wide empty corridor, ending with an even grander door than this one – undoubtedly to the master's quarters. That meant the child was there.

Nilda rushed forward toward the child. At that moment, a sharp warning cry sounded:

– Stay where you are! Don’t move! Otherwise, you will be destroyed!

Nilda, realizing she was taken by surprise, froze in place. First, she needed to determine who was threatening her: there was no one else in the corridor. Behind her, a crash and the sound of a broken vase followed; someone heavy was getting up. That meant they had been hiding under the table; there was no other place.

– Slowly turn toward me! Otherwise, you will be destroyed!

Excellent! This is exactly what Nilda wanted the most. Nilda slowly turned around and saw the combat transformer robot PolG-12, on caterpillar tracks. Indeed, the robot was hiding under the table – probably in a folded state – and now it had rolled out from under it and straightened up, aiming both of its machine guns, the large-caliber and the medium-caliber, at the uninvited guest.

– You are missing an identifier. What is your name? What are you doing here? Answer, or you will be destroyed!

Understood, the combat transformer robot PolG-12 with rudimentary artificial intelligence. Nilda had never encountered anything like this before.

– My name is Suzy Thompson, – squeaked Nilda, as confused and articulate as possible. – Some guys picked me up at the bar today and brought me here. And now I'm looking for a restroom. I really need to pee.

– Where is your identifier? – the artificial intelligence droned. – Answer, or you will be destroyed!

– Is that a pass? – Nilda asked. – The guys who brought me here arranged the pass. But I forgot to put it on. I just ran out to powder my nose for literally a minute.

– Checking identifier issuance... Checking identifier issuance... Unable to connect to the database.

‘Good thing I turned off the system,’ – Nilda thought.

– The restroom is on the opposite side of the hallway, seventh door on the right. Turn around and proceed there, Suzy Thompson. In the restroom, you can relieve yourself and powder your nose. Otherwise, you will be destroyed! Your data will be checked after the system is restored.

The robot still had both machine guns aimed at her. It seemed that the artificial intelligence had been hastily attached to it; otherwise, PolG-12 would have noticed Nilda's black leotard and the stiletto in her hand.

– Thank you very much. I'm on my way.

Nilda headed for the exit. At the moment she was next to the robot, she flipped over with her hands on the upper part of the robot – you could say, the top of its head – and ended up behind the transformer. She immediately jumped onto its back, thus placing herself out of the machine guns' firing range.

– Fire to destroy! Fire to destroy! – shouted PolG-12.

The machine guns unleashed a hail of bullets in the corridor. The robot turned, trying to strike Nilda, but she was behind it, moving along with the machine guns. It had no circular fire capability – Nilda knew that.

Holding the top of the robot with one hand, Nilda tried to feel for a vulnerable spot with the other, gripping a stiletto. This might work: a gap between the armor plates, with wires protruding deep inside.

Nilda slid the stiletto into the gap and moved it. As if sensing danger, the transformer adjusted its tilt, and the stiletto got stuck between the armor plates. Cursing and barely holding on to the spinning and shooting robot, Nilda pulled out a second stiletto from her bag and plunged it into the joints of her mechanical foe. The robot spun around like it was scalded. In an attempt to escape, it made one last desperate effort to rid itself of the girl riding it.

Ceasing its futile gunfire, the PolG-12 surged forward and drove one of its treads against the wall. At that moment, Nilda, having just cut through another bundle of wires, realized the danger too late. The robot flipped onto its back, pinning the girl beneath its chassis. However, it was also the end for the robot: the spinal column of the metal monster was damaged and no longer responded to commands.

Still trapped beneath the robot, Nilda smashed its optics with the handle of her stiletto, then unscrewed the armor and severed the central cable. The transformer fell silent forever. Nilda's situation was not much better: she ended up buried beneath the iron corpse.

"The child!" Nilda remembered and surged free from beneath the iron corpse.

She finally managed to crawl out, but her leg was pinned and bleeding. This time it was the left one – her right thigh had been injured during the fight with the guards.

Nilda's presence in the mansion had been compromised – such gunfire would be heard by the dead – so the way of retreat through the park was cut off. Indeed, in the distance, one police siren wailed, then another. Nilda decided she would escape through the underground tunnels. But first, she needed to get the child, who was behind that door.

Limping on both legs and leaving a bloody trail behind her, Nilda jumped to the master's study and opened the door.

The room was large. At the table on the opposite wall sat her ex-husband, gazing curiously at her as she entered. For some reason, Nilda's vision started to blur: her husband appeared slightly hazy. Strange, she only had a leg pinned down; the blood loss was minor. Why was her vision blurring?

“Give me the baby, Benson,” Nilda shouted. “I don’t need you, Benson! Hand over the baby, and I’ll get out of here.”

“Take it, if you can,” Benson said, pointing to the door on his right.

Nilda lunged forward but banged her forehead against the glass with a thud. Oh, damn! It’s not her vision that’s blurring – the room is divided by glass, surely bulletproof.

“Give me the baby!” Nilda shrieked, banging against the wall like a moth against a glowing glass lampshade.

Benson weakly smiled from behind the glass. A remote control appeared in his hands, and then Benson pressed a button. Nilda thought Benson was calling security, but it wasn’t security. A loud crash echoed behind her. When the girl turned around, she saw that the exit was blocked by a metal plate that had fallen from above. Nothing else happened. Although, in reality, something was happening: a small hole opened in the wall, and yellow cat-like eyes flashed with danger. A black panther emerged from the hole, stretching its soft, springy legs.

Nilda reacted instantly. Jumping and pushing off the wall with her feet in mid-air, she reached for the huge chandelier hanging overhead. Pulling herself up, she climbed onto the chandelier.

The black panther jumped after her, missed by a moment, and fell short. Whining pitifully, the panther tried again and again, but it couldn’t reach the chandelier where Nilda had settled.

The light bulbs screwed into the chandelier were too hot. They burned the skin, leaving marks behind. In a hurry, regretting the gun that had been left in the security room, Nilda unzipped her handbag and pulled out a small pistol. The panther sat in the corner, preparing for a new leap. Nilda, securing herself on the chandelier with her legs, leaned down and shot the panther in the head. The panther roared and jumped. This leap was successful: the panther managed to claw at the hand in which Nilda held the stiletto. The stiletto fell to the floor, and blood gushed from the torn wound. The panther was also injured: Nilda saw a bloody lump swelling on its head.

Clenching her teeth to maintain focus, Nilda aimed at the panther's head and pressed the trigger until she had fired the entire magazine. When the magazine was empty, the panther was dead.

Nilda, covered in blood, with her hands burned from the hot light bulbs, jumped down to the floor and turned towards Benson. He, beaming with a mocking smile, was clapping exaggeratedly.

“Give me my child, Benson!” Nilda shouted.

Benson shrugged, indicating that it wouldn't happen. Nilda pulled an anti-tank grenade from her handbag—the last resort she had left—and cried out:

“Hand him over, or I’ll blow it up!”

Benson, peering closely, squinted, clearly showing that he believed the anti-tank grenade would not penetrate his bulletproof glass. Nilda thought that Benson might be right: they had learned to make very good bulletproof glass nowadays. Damn those manufacturers!

In the distance—probably at the entrance to the mansion—numerous police sirens wailed. Another half hour and the police would decide to storm in. It was time to leave, but Nilda couldn’t. Very close, in the adjacent room—separated from her by bulletproof glass and a door—was her child.

Looking at the grenade clenched in her hand, Nilda made up her mind. She pulled the pin and, under Benson's ironic gaze, threw the grenade—not at the glass, as Benson expected, but into the hatch from which a panther had emerged. There was a loud bang from inside the hatch. Without waiting for the smoke to come out, Nilda dove in and advanced to the blast point. She had thrown the grenade far—at least a meter beyond the location of the glass wall—so it should have worked.

The hatch turned out to be narrow, but enough for her to lie across and brace her back against the wall. The explosion had significantly destroyed the interior: all that was left was to pry out the last bricks. Fortunately, the wall was made of bricks; if it had been concrete blocks, Nilda would have been finished. Bracing her feet against the crumbled wall, Nilda tensed her pain-wracked body. The wall wouldn’t budge.

Nilda thought of her child, who was very close to her, and straightened up fiercely. The bricks shifted and fell into the room. Gunshots rang out—it was Benson trying to shoot her with his pistol. But Nilda was ready for the shots, instantly moving to the side, behind solid bricks. Waiting for a pause between shots, she, scraping her skin on her shoulders, hurled herself through the broken hole and tumbled across the floor. Benson, hidden behind the table, shot a few more times but missed.

The next shot didn’t come—there was a misfire. Roaring, Nilda jumped onto the table and plunged a stiletto into Benson's eye. He gasped and dropped his pistol, but Nilda had no time to cut her ex-husband's throat. She dashed for the door behind which her child was. From the room, the sound of a baby's cry could be heard. And without any cries, just by motherly instinct, Nilda sensed her child was behind the door.

However, the door did not open. Nilda rushed for the keys at the desk where Benson's corpse lay, but something stopped her. She turned around and saw that the keyhole was missing from the door. It must have a code lock! But where? To the side of the wall hung a plate with artistic painting—it seemed to be hiding something.

Nilda tore a decorative plate from the wall and confirmed her suspicion. Under the plate lay four digital disks: the code was four digits long. Four digits mean ten thousand combinations. It would take about an hour to try them all. But Nilda didn't have that hour, so she had to guess the number that Benson had set. What might Benson have come up with? A crude, self-satisfied fool, only concerned about his billions. Surely something even more vulgar than himself.

Nilda dialed '1234' and yanked at the door. It didn't budge. What if the sequence was reversed? '0987'? That didn’t work either. '9876'? Nope. Why did she stick a stiletto in Benson's eye?! If the billionaire were still alive, she could have methodically cut off his fingers: she would have discovered the lock code and prolonged the pleasure.

In despair over her child being behind a door that couldn't be opened, Nilda banged on it. But the door was not just metal—it was armored. Her child needed feeding; how could they not understand that? The child must be hungry!

Nilda ran to try to break down the door with her body but noticed a second decorative plate with artwork on the other side of the door. How could she not have figured that out sooner! The second plate had similar digital disks. The number of possible combinations increased exponentially. One could only hope Benson hadn’t bothered to come up with a complicated code: that wasn’t his style.

So, what now? '1234' and '0987'? No, the door still wouldn’t open. What if it was even simpler? '1234' and '5678'.

There was a click, and Nilda realized that the cursed door had opened. She burst into the room and saw her child lying in the crib. The child was crying, reaching out with tiny hands. In turn, Nilda stretched her burned fingers toward the child and rushed toward the crib.

At that moment, her consciousness blurred. Nilda tried to jerk away, but couldn’t—most likely due to severe blood loss. The room, along with the crib, disappeared, and a dirty gray haze filled her mind's horizon. Nearby, voices could be heard. Nilda heard them—though distantly, but clearly.

There were two voices, both male. They sounded businesslike and focused.

– Two and a half minutes faster than last time, – the first voice was heard. – Congratulations, Gordon, you were right.

The second voice grunted with satisfaction:

– I told you right away, Ebbert. No revenge, no sense of duty or desire for wealth can compare to the instinct of motherhood.

– Well, – the first voice, belonging to Ebbert, was heard. – One week remains. The strongest and most enduring motivation has been established and tested, what shall we do in the remaining days?

– Let's continue the experiments. I want to see who our little girl will fight for more fiercely: for a son or a daughter. Now I'll erase her memory, restore her skin and change her clothing.

Little girl? Whose voice are they referring to, is it hers?

– Agreed, – Ebbert said. – We have time to run it again overnight. You take care of the little one, and I'll go replace the bionics. She damaged these quite a bit. There's no point in stitching them up, they will have to be disposed of.

– Get new ones, – Gordon said. – Don't forget to arrange for the repair of the room. And replace the PolG-12 just in case. The little girl keeps cutting the same wires. I'm afraid our PolG-12 might have developed a conditioned reflex. Bring another one from the warehouse for the sake of the experiment.

Ebbert grunted.

– Alright. Just look at her. She's lying there as if nothing has happened. Such a sweetie.

No, the male voices were definitely talking about her, Nilda. But what did the voices mean?

– Benson's visit is confirmed, he's expected in a week, – Gordon laughed. – He will have to meet our ward. I think Mr. Benson will be quite surprised that he kidnapped her child.

– He won't even have time to be surprised, – Ebbert remarked.

After these words, the voices faded away, and Nilda fell into a refreshing and healing sleep.

Source: habr.com