In a certain warehouse on the outskirts of the city, the room was damp. The heavy smell of mold filled the air.
Scattered debris lay around, and it was clear the place hadn't been cleaned in years. A few rusted metallic chairs stood abandoned, their surfaces corroded and unstable. A makeshift bed leaned against one wall, while an old, rickety table sat at the far end of the room.
The floor was sticky, and on closer inspection, the source of the stickiness became apparent—it was dried blood, still slightly wet in patches. The air reeked of blood, a nauseating mix of old and new, making it hard for anyone to breathe. The place resembled a torture chamber more than anything else.
Chen Mumu lay limp by the makeshift bed, her body slumped and lifeless. Blood oozed from the wound on her head where she'd been struck earlier, adding to the coppery scent saturating the air. Her fragile form looked pitiful, but the men who had kidnapped her showed no trace of remorse.
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