The reeking sewage trickling from the underground channel had already begun to pool around the girl's feet. Her body was far thinner than that of a normal child from the surface, so thin that it could only be described as skin stretched over bone.
She was only six years old, yet already on the verge of being forced into one of the cruelest, most unfortunate fates a girl could endure, all because of her family's hunger and poverty.
"Boss, look at this girl… if she were fattened up a bit, she'd be quite the attraction," said the man who had dragged her from their makeshift home. Her father—a decrepit old man with white hair.
To her, he was barely more than a stranger. Just another degenerate in the underground who scrapped through life by pawning off stolen goods for fleeting moments of bodily pleasure. Beyond satisfying his urges, the man had no purpose, no value.
She was the daughter of a prostitute from one of the local brothels. The moment she was born, she had been thrown onto a trash heap crawling with vermin—an absolutely hostile place for a fragile newborn.
Somehow, she survived.
By a strange twist of fate, her birth mother had informed the man who had fathered her. Naturally, he said nothing in return. Even after learning the girl had been dumped like garbage, he gave up some of his pitiful earnings just to satisfy himself again. That was the kind of man he was.
She was found by an aging prostitute, who took her in despite having no milk to offer and no clean water to drink. Living in the underground, they barely managed to scrape by together.
The conditions were appalling, yet the girl managed to survive.
But her adoptive mother didn't have long. Before passing away, she left the girl only two things: the filthy yellow-white cloth tunic the girl still wore, and a name—Sandra. It meant "Defender."
Sandra. That's me.
After my foster mother died, I lost my only source of comfort. Word of her death spread quickly through the underground, and scavengers began picking apart what little we had left—worthless to most, but still stolen.
I couldn't stay in that miserable hole any longer. So I began to wander, slipping into the rhythms of the streets. Theft, scams, fights, even kidnapping—it was all daily life in the underground. Within a year, I had learned how to protect myself. At just five years old, I smeared dirt over my face to dampen the lustful stares of perverted men.
One day, when I was desperate and starving, I tried to steal a piece of dried food from a stall. That was when an old man claiming to be my biological father appeared.
He sounded convincing at first. He said I wouldn't go hungry. He said I'd at least have a roof over my head. I was still a child, naive enough to believe his words.
But I hadn't even warmed the seat in his filthy den before he bound my hands with a rope and dragged me back out the door.
"Yeah, she looks usable," said a fat man standing before him. "Gant, I gotta say—you move fast. You told me you owed money just the other day, and now suddenly you remember you've got a daughter? Lucky bastard. And she's still alive, too. Looks like you just bought yourself outta debt!"
Gant—the man who called himself my father—laughed nervously, daring not to offend the fat man. "So... that clears my debt, right?"
The fat man gave him a toothy grin. "Sure, sure." Then he turned and looked at me. His gaze was disgusting, crawling over my body like a leech. I stared back, coldly.
"Whoa, scary look for such a small thing," he chuckled. "But don't worry, kid. You belong to me now."
His massive, calloused hand wrapped around my neck and lifted me off the ground.
"Ghhk—!"
I couldn't breathe. I kicked and struggled, but with my hands tied, I had no way to fight back.
Behind him, Gant simply chuckled, completely unfazed by his daughter being dragged away like livestock. He looked relieved. His problem had been solved.
When I was on the verge of passing out, the fat man finally hurled me onto a handcart. Gasping for air, I sucked in the filthy underground stench—tobacco, sweat, rotting alcohol. It wasn't fresh, but it meant I was still alive.
"Boss, ain't she just a bit too young? I mean, not much space to work with down there, right? Hahaha!"
Their crude laughter echoed off the tunnel walls as the fat man's henchman ogled my body.
"She'll grow," the fat man said. "We'll fatten her up. Wahahaha! Let's go, back to the shop!"
Still chuckling, he ordered his lackey to pull the cart forward and climbed aboard himself.
I felt like I had been thrown to the wolves. My stomach was empty, my head was spinning, and my hands were bound. There was no escape from these beasts—not now.
But I stared at the fat man, counting his coins with a smug grin on his face, and I waited.
Waited for the right moment.
Because I refused to be owned. I would not become another nameless girl locked in a brothel with no way out. I'd rather die than lose myself to that fate.
There was one passage in the underground—a route that led to the surface. But no one from the slums could afford the permits to leave. Only merchants, with their bribes and influence, ever managed to escape.
"Hey! Hurry it up, you slug!" the fat man barked, snapping a whip toward his struggling underling. He didn't even acknowledge the sheer weight of his bloated body.
But I was watching. Planning.
I wouldn't let them cage me.
I would find the light—even if I had to claw my way through the darkness.
--------------
Access Advance Chapters on my Patreon : patreon .com / MPHFics