Touch Me And Your're Dead! [English]

09

Chapter 09

"What?"

My eyes widened in shock after Gabriel told me that their boss had tried to kill Aron, and because of that incident, Aron never returned home.

"Then why does your boss still seem concerned about his son? Why do I still need to watch him?" I asked, looking at Gabriel with suspicion and growing unease.

I started thinking deeply about the implications. Could it be that they planned to use me to track the boss's son so they could finish him off permanently? The thought sent a chill down my spine—was I being turned into an unwitting accomplice to an assassination?

I looked in another direction, my mind reeling. Why were there parents like that? How could they do such things to their own children? The casual way Gabriel had mentioned attempted murder between father and son was deeply disturbing, yet it seemed to be treated as just another family complication in this world.

"The truth is, once the boss holds a gun, he never fails to pull the trigger. I'm just wondering if he really intended to kill Sir Aron that time," Gabriel said thoughtfully, his voice carrying a note of uncertainty that was somehow more frightening than certainty would have been.

I looked at Gabriel intently. He said he didn't know any other details, but what he knew was that Aron left with tremendous anger toward their boss, which was why he hadn't shown up again after what happened. The family rift seemed to run deeper than a simple disagreement—it was a chasm that might never be bridged.

"Just stick to your mission—watch Sir Aron and report everything he does. It would be better if you could win Sir Aron's heart and gain his trust to make your future missions smoother," Gabriel advised, his tone taking on the practical edge of someone who had survived in this world by being pragmatic rather than idealistic.

I bit my nail nervously. How was I going to do that? Where would I even start? The magnitude of the task was beginning to sink in—I wasn't just supposed to observe from a distance, but actually infiltrate the life of someone who had every reason to be suspicious of strangers.

I thought about it and lowered my hands. According to the information Gabriel had given me, Aron owned an art gallery. That meant there was a possibility I could see him there. At least it was a public place where I could observe without immediately arousing suspicion.

I looked at Gabriel and said I wanted to visit the art gallery. The idea of seeing actual art was almost as appealing as the mission itself—I had never been in such a cultured place before.

"You can't just walk in there easily," Gabriel warned, his expression suggesting that Aron's gallery wasn't the kind of place that welcomed casual visitors.

"I want to try. I'll go to the art gallery," I said, touching my chest with determination. I smiled sweetly, though inside I was terrified. I wanted to see the place for myself. I told Gabriel to just trust me, even though I didn't know if I would get any opportunity to get close to the boss's son when I saw him.

As long as I could get out of that room, I was willing to try anything. Gabriel got permission from their Padrino, but before that, they injected something into one of my fingers.

"Ouch! What was that?" I exclaimed, pulling my hand back and looking at my bleeding finger with alarm.

Gabriel glanced at the person who had suddenly pricked my finger with what looked like an injection device. The casual efficiency of the procedure suggested this was routine for them.

"That's a type of poison that can destroy your cells in the next second once I activate this device," the man explained, holding up what looked like a small controller.

My eyes widened in horror as he explained that once I tried to escape or did something wrong during the mission, he would activate it, and once activated, the chip would break and the poison would spread throughout my system. The technology was both impressive and terrifying—a perfect leash that could kill me at the push of a button.

"You don't need to worry. They made an antidote for that," Gabriel said, elbowing his companion. I breathed a little easier after hearing that, though the knowledge that my life literally hung in the balance of their goodwill was hardly comforting.

I had one more question. I looked at my bleeding finger, the small wound a stark reminder of how completely I was now under their control. As long as I stuck to the mission, nothing bad would happen to me. At least, that's what I told myself.

The next day, they let me leave the room, and Gabriel handed me a card and a phone. I said I didn't know how to use a phone and asked what the card was for.

"You can open the gate using that card. There's a machine there—just swipe it. As long as you use that card, you can safely return here," Gabriel said, then pointed to the phone I was holding.

He pressed something on the phone, and suddenly his phone rang, demonstrating the connection.

"That's also connected to the system. Just press that, and someone will come to your location to help you," Gabriel explained. He said the device was for all members who were outside the mansion. It was both a safety net and another form of monitoring—they would always know where I was and could reach me instantly.

My eyes immediately lit up after hearing that. It meant I had protection, which was more than I'd had in years.

I quickly put those items in the pocket of the coat I was wearing, then picked up the plastic bag on the table that was full of cookies, plus I took a bottled water from the mini-fridge in my room.

"What are those for?" Gabriel asked, pointing to the food I had put in the small bag he had given me.

"Oh, my packed lunch. I'm sure I'll get hungry there, so I'm bringing this," I explained practically.

I saw Gabriel and his foreign-looking companion laugh at my response. I crossed my arms and asked them what was so funny. The idea of bringing snacks seemed perfectly reasonable to me—I had learned never to take food for granted.

They sent me away, with Gabriel telling me to be careful. His concern seemed genuine, which was oddly comforting given the circumstances.

So, I finally left the building. No one followed me or paid me any special attention, which was both relieving and slightly unnerving. I carried the map Gabriel had given me to get out of their city.

Like a child, I ran toward the stairs, eager to begin this strange new chapter of my life.

Later, in Hilda's room, two men stood at the door, watching through the gap.

"She didn't use the elevator?" Al Abbott asked, watching me head straight for the stairs and run down them with obvious enthusiasm.

Gabriel facepalmed, saying he had forgotten about that detail. How could he have forgotten that I was more rural than someone from the mountains? I didn't know how to use anything, not even a phone.

"I think it's impossible for that woman to finish her mission without messing up. I wonder what Padrino was thinking when he chose her for this mission, especially if he knows his son is incredibly unpredictable," Al observed, his tone suggesting he thought this mission was doomed from the start.

Gabriel said he was curious too, and at the same time felt sorry for me. The conflicting emotions were clear in his voice—professional duty warring with human sympathy.

"Once Sir Aron finds out Hilda is one of us, he'll definitely kill her without blinking an eye," Gabriel said as he walked out of the room. Al immediately followed him.

"Miss Hilda is aware of that, right?" Al asked, hurrying to catch up with his friend. Gabriel didn't respond. He didn't want to scare me further, and besides, he had faith in their Padrino's judgment. Their boss wouldn't choose an outsider without reason—at least, that's what he hoped.

---

I cursed when I finally reached the ground floor. We had been on the 10th floor, and I was completely drenched in sweat from walking all the way down. My legs felt like jelly, and I was breathing hard from the exertion.

I sat on the floor and looked around, trying to catch my breath. Why was that building so tall? And why hadn't anyone mentioned that walking down ten flights of stairs would be like running a marathon?

I stopped and turned around after a metal door next to me opened. Many people came out of there and stared at me with curious expressions.

"Are you okay, miss?" a woman asked me with genuine concern.

I immediately stood up, stepped back embarrassedly, and apologized. Their kindness was unexpected and touching—I wasn't used to strangers showing concern for my welfare.

The people there looked at me strangely, and I glanced inside the metal door that had just opened. It was like looking into a small, moving room.

"Are you going in?" asked one of the men who entered inside. I immediately shook my head and waved my hands frantically.

I left immediately. I didn't understand why they went in there. It looked like a big doghouse, and it was spacious enough. It couldn't be a restroom either because it looked more like a long box. The concept of an elevator was completely foreign to me.

I left the building and was greeted by numerous cars and busy people who seemed to have their own separate worlds. The contrast between the organized community inside the walls and the bustling world outside was stark.

I immediately moved away and headed to the gate because I saw some people carrying guns. Even in this relatively safe space, the reminder of violence was never far away.

When I left the gate, I stopped after seeing a very long road with a tunnel at the end. I remembered that we had also passed through a tunnel when they brought me to that place.

I started walking even though, to be honest, I wanted to sit down for a moment because my feet were really hurting from all the walking. But I had a mission to complete, and every moment of delay was a moment closer to potential discovery.

I hadn't been walking for even six minutes when a white car stopped beside me. I jumped in surprise because it suddenly honked its horn.

The driver's seat window rolled down, and I saw an incredibly handsome guy wearing sunglasses who told me to get in. His command was brief but carried an authority that suggested he was used to being obeyed.

One word with an accent. I didn't know who this was, but I walked around and got in the passenger seat since he had indeed pointed to the seat next to him. Sometimes you have to trust strangers, especially when you're already in over your head.

When I got in, I screamed as he suddenly started driving at an incredibly fast speed. The acceleration pressed me back into my seat, and I felt like I was going to be thrown through the windshield.

"Wait! Slow down! I don't want to die yet!" I screamed. At my shout, the man suddenly braked hard.

"Woman! Are you crazy? Is there a microphone attached to your vocal cords!" he shouted back, his voice filled with irritation and disbelief.

I felt my face and body to make sure no part of me had detached from my body and gone through the windshield. The sudden stop had been almost as terrifying as the speed.

I angrily turned to the man and shouted back, "You're the one who's crazy! Crazy! How many lives do you have? I only have one! Don't involve me if you want to die! Why are you driving as if your body is made of metal and you have nine lives!"

I saw him grit his teeth and say through clenched lips, "I didn't understand... every single word you just said."

"I didn't understand anything you said either, and you shouted at me even though you're the one at fault," I retorted, crossing my arms defiantly.

The guy didn't respond anymore and started the car again. This time he wasn't driving as fast, which was a relief. It seemed I had gotten through to him, so I looked at him sideways. I suddenly thought that I had just hitched a ride and then acted like that toward him. Guilt began to creep in.

"Sorry," I said quietly, feeling genuinely bad about my outburst.

He didn't respond. I crossed my arms—at least he could say something back. Then again, we couldn't really understand each other, so maybe silence was better.

"You spoke too fast a few minutes ago, and I almost didn't understand what you said. I can understand Tagalog, so you're free to talk to me using Tagalog," he said, his voice calmer now.

"Gabriel asked me to drive you."

I only understood "drive you" and that he could understand Tagalog. At least we had found some common ground for communication.

"I understand a little English. I can't read or write," I admitted, wanting him to understand my limitations. At least he would know I hadn't studied and that it was impossible for me to understand everything he said.

We had exited the tunnel and were greeted by an area that looked like a market. There were many people and street food vendors everywhere. I also noticed for the first time that all the houses had similar designs, giving the area a cohesive, planned appearance.

The car suddenly stopped in front of a school as some students were about to cross to the other side of the road. The driver's consideration for pedestrians was another small kindness in a world that had shown me so little.

Someone knocked on the car window on my side, so I looked over. The window suddenly rolled down, and I saw a young girl holding out juice and bread. I wasn't familiar with either item.

I had no money and told the child that. She didn't seem to understand me and kept insisting I take the items.

"Take it if you want. It's free," said the guy next to me, and when I heard "free," I immediately took the items.

I thanked the child. She smiled sweetly and left. There really was no charge—the generosity was genuine and unexpected.

"Do they really give free food here?" I asked, looking at Mr. Driver, who had one elbow on the window and was looking straight ahead.

"It depends. All people here have money to spend, and most of them have the will to share," he explained, his tone suggesting this was normal in their community.

I looked at the bakery the little girl had entered. It seemed they were giving away some of their products to share and let passersby taste them. The sense of community was unlike anything I had experienced.

I bit into the bread and found it delicious. It would be nice if everyone outside this city could live as prosperously as the people here.

I stopped after tasting the bread and said it was delicious. I broke it in half and offered some to Mr. Driver. He looked at me and said he wasn't hungry.

"But I don't want to eat alone," I said simply. When I didn't have anyone with me, it was fine, but sharing made everything better.

I saw him sigh and take the piece I offered. Even this small gesture felt significant—a moment of human connection in an otherwise surreal situation.

"I'm Hilda, by the way. What's your name?" I asked. I thought I'd be with him all day today, so it wouldn't hurt to ask his name.

"Art, you can call me Art," he replied, looking out the window while chewing.

So his name was Art. What a beautiful name—fitting for someone who seemed to move through the world with a certain artistic grace.

I continued eating, and soon the car started moving again. The journey became quite long, and due to the cool air and the man's cologne wafting into my nose, I started feeling sleepy. I didn't realize that my eyes were already closing and I had fallen asleep.

I only woke up when someone opened the door on my side, which made me sit up abruptly, disoriented and momentarily panicked.

"Let's go," Art said simply.

I got out of the car and saw that it was parked in an alley. The change from the open road to this narrow space felt somehow significant, as if we were transitioning from one world to another.

"You need to walk from here," he said, indicating he wouldn't be coming with me. He would just wait for me there.

I thanked Art and walked away, feeling suddenly alone and vulnerable. Now came the real test—I needed to find the first place where there was a possibility that Aron Nicastro would be. I punched the air and told myself I could do this.

Once I completed this mission, I would be free. I could do everything I wanted and no longer be controlled by my father or anyone else. The promise of freedom was the only thing keeping me moving forward.

I ran out of the alley into a bustling area full of people, and I looked around, taking in my surroundings with wide eyes.

"Hilda."

I jumped when someone spoke inside my ear. The voice was familiar to me, but hearing it so clearly when no one was near was startling.

"What's happening? Did I hit my head, or did I suddenly get powers because I almost died earlier?" I asked stupidly, touching my ear in confusion.

I heard laughter on the other line, which was both reassuring and embarrassing.

"You're really funny, Hilda. No, I attached something to your ear earlier, remember? It's a communication device, and only you can hear me. We can talk through this, and I can track you," Gabriel's voice explained through the hidden device.

I saw many people looking at me strangely as I talked to seemingly no one. I smiled awkwardly and walked away from there, feeling embarrassed.

"You could have informed me about this," I said under my breath, trying not to move my lips too obviously.

I heard him laugh and say he had forgotten to mention it too. I pouted because it seemed like he had done it on purpose. He had even sent me a phone when there was already something like this attached to my ear.

The technology was impressive, but the lack of full disclosure about what had been done to my body was unsettling. How many other devices or modifications had they made without telling me? The thought that I was now essentially a walking surveillance system was both protective and invasive.

But there was no turning back now. I was in the heart of the city, on my own, with a mission that could either secure my freedom or get me killed. All I could do was move forward and hope that somehow, against all odds, I could pull this off.