It always rained in Seattle whenever Elara got a step closer to finding the people who kidnapped her sister. Perhaps the rain was an indication of how unpleasant things were becoming. She drew her revolver as she crouched behind a dumpster.
Her informant sweared up and down that this site, an abandoned house turned drug den, was were the local missing people went. It had taken a bit of work to make him talk, but the rope burns will fade and with a bit of physio, his fingers will heal.
The gun was old, but servicable. The best she could afford with limited funds. As her search for her sister began in earnest, she ran into increasingly unpleasant people. She bought it off a hooded man in an alley, and tried not to think about what it was previously used for.
The police were useless. They had dozens of missings person reports to deal with already. They made a cursory evaluation and suggested that it was drug related. Elara didn’t believe that, wouldn’t believe that. She began her own search.
The house was dilapitated, the windows boarded up. It stank of human waste. Addicts were strewn on the main floor and upper storey. The misery here was the hardest to bear, but she steeled herself and checked every body here. No sign of her sister, thankfully.
The basement door was made of steel, the frame reinforced as well. The password her informant gave her worked, and she was in. She discreetly pressed a button on her phone, sending a message and entered.
A drug lab, with a half-dozen armed guards, and a rough hewn tunnel leading away into darkness. She prayed that she would soon see her sister as she lashed out and crushed the windpipe of the nearest guard with her revolver. Then she began to work.
Minutes later, she pulled herself up in agony. Beaten, shot, and stabbed. She alone was left standing.
Several of the non-combatants had fled through the basement door, but a few had left through the tunnel. She quickly pulled out a syringe and injected herself with something to block out the pain. Company would be coming soon.
Elara pulled herself through the tunnel, more dead than alive. No thoughts left other then finding her sister. She had to save her.
A basement filled with empty cages. Stairs leading up. Terrified voices echoing. She dragged herself up.
A warehouse. Delivery trucks loading human occupants, all gagged and bound. Guards. Lots of guards. Elara drew a deep breath, and moved in.
The Exemplar made short work of them all. He had intercepted the text about human trafficking and investigated. He arrived to witness a lone woman attempting to rescue them, against impossible odds.
He healed her as she collapsed in front of one of the trucks. A muffled scream as a similar looking occupant edged towards the front. A sister?
When Elara woke, The Exemplar asked her with a smile, “Would you like a job?”
Writings and Wrongings 