[h3][color=orange][center]Vicker West[/center][/color][/h3]

[color=orange][center]Location: Death Row, lone warehouse.[/center][/color]

Vicker West stood across the street to an empty warehouse, watching masked people unload cargo from blank vans. The cargo wasn’t important; he didn’t even know what was in it. What mattered was the pay. For a smuggling op, five thousand bucks was almost irresistible. He had his own theories, of course. 

[color=orange][i]Maybe it’s a new drug hitting the streets, it’d explain all the protection.

Perhaps a stockpile of weapons? Hell, I might just spend my five thousand on a gun that ain’t crap.

What’s with all the damn holes in the boxes?[/i][/color] 

Whatever. At this point, it didn’t matter anyways. He’d see some change in the criminal landscape, and it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out where the change came from.

Still, something about all this was just bothering him. It was like a tiny itch in the back of his brain that he couldn’t scratch. Eventually, he gave into his gut and walked over to talk to one of the other guards.

[color=orange]“Hey, you know what’s in these crates?”[/color] Such a simple question, and also one the man had to answer, regardless of whether he wanted to or not. It was Vicker’s “gift”, per se.

“Don’t know, man. Boss said that it’s important for his clients’ ‘satisfaction’. Hell if I know what that means.”

[color=orange]“Gotcha.”[/color]

Vicker slunk into the warehouse, trying to avoid notice from the other guards. He was technically a guard as well, but he was supposed to be on lookout. If someone saw him stalking around the cargo, it would raise more than a few suspicions. The strangest thing was the smell, however. Who on the face of the Earth would want to buy something so repugnant?

He slowly approached one of the boxes, and looked around to see if anyone was near. Thankfully, there wasn’t. He was about to unlock the crate when suddenly, it shook. 

[color=orange]“Jesus!”[/color] Vicker rasped as he jumped back. 

[color=orange][i]Someone’s in there.[/i][/color]

Vicker quickly unlatched the crate, and when he did, the top came off by itself, and what he saw enraged him to no end. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Drugs and violence, those were pretty normal things, especially in Death Row. But this… this was a new low. 

[color=orange][i]Kids! They’re fucking trafficking kids![/i][/color]

The girl couldn’t be older than ten, and she looked painfully skinny. Maybe forty, fifty pounds at most? Her skin clung desperately to her bones, her eyes sunk into her skull, and human waste clung to the bottom and sides of the crate. 

[color=orange][i]So that was the smell. Fucking Hell.[/i][/color]

He could only assume that the other crates were the same. Nausea crept up his stomach, and nearly made him retch. He needed to get these kids out, every single one of them. 

A masked guard came around the corner, shotgun in hand. Vicker recognized him as the guy he mind-controlled earlier. He froze when he saw the kid. Vicker didn’t even think of using his power. Right now, he just knew the kids needed help. 

[color=orange]“Hey you! Guard! Help me!”[/color] 

The man rushed over, shotgun still levelled. 

“Wait, they’re shipping kids?” Behind the baklava, Vicker saw the man’s eyes widen in shock. He looked at the kid, then back at Vicker. 

[color=orange]“You just gonna stand there? Come on!”[/color] 

To his surprise, the guard shook his head.

“I’m sorry man, my family needs me. My son… he…”

[color=orange]“What if your son’s in one of these damn things next, huh? You just going to stand around then?”[/color] 

Vicker saw that the guard wasn’t going to help, so he made him. For the second time, he took control. 

[color=orange]“Free all of the kids. Make sure they all get out safely, even if you die. If anyone tries to stop you, kill them.”[/color]

“Got it.” 

Then just like before, Vicker slunk back out like a cat. He wasn’t going to get any money from the job, but that didn’t matter. He had another target in mind.