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“This is the sender’s designated wedding gift for you. Please sign for it,” the courier announced calmly, his voice cutting through the banquet chatter like a stone breaking the surface of still
water.
“A wedding gift?” someone in the crowd gasped.
“Even Mr. Wren and his wife got one? Who’s so thoughtful?”
“What kind of gift? Open it, quick!”
Curiosity swept across the room like a spark on dry grass. All eyes turned toward the stage.
Under that suffocating scrutiny, Daniel, Julian, Mr. and Mrs. Wren exchanged wary glances before hesitantly stepping forward.
“I’m Daniel,” the groom said stiffly.
The courier handed him a thin file envelope.
“Julian.”
Another envelope changed hands.
Mr. Wren received one as well.
But the man didn’t leave. Instead, he pulled a small USB drive from his bag and held it up. “There’s also a video file. The sender requested it be played live. Do you have equipment ready?”
The words “live broadcast” sent a chill through the air.
Delilah’s smile faltered. Color drained from her face in an instant.
“This… this must be from my sister!” she stammered, trying to sound cheerful but failing. Her voice trembled as she rushed forward. “Give it to me. We can watch it later. The wedding isn’t over!”
The rest of the Wren family quickly nodded, eager to contain the situation.
But the courier was quicker. He sidestepped Delilah’s reaching hand with practiced ease and made his way straight to the control console at the edge of the stage.
“Apologies. I’m just following instructions,” he said evenly, inserting the USB into the port before anyone could stop him.
His voice wasn’t loud, but in the stunned silence, it echoed like a hammer.
“No-stop!” Delilah screamed. Her perfectly composed mask cracked, panic flooding her delicate features.
Too late.
The large display, once looping soft-focus wedding photos of the happy couple, abruptly cut to black. The romantic music screeched to a halt.
A sudden flash of white light filled the screen-and then came the images.
Horrific. Raw. Unfiltered.
A dark, concrete prison cell.
A young woman in a tattered prison uniform, emaciated and bruised, whipped savagely across the back.
Blue sparks flickered from an electric baton pressed against her ribs.
Her face was shoved into a bucket of filth.
Barefoot and freezing, she crawled on snow-covered ground like a broken animal.
The scenes kept changing-each more gut-wrenching than the last. The torture spanned what must’ve been years.
Her once-bright eyes were now hollow voids. Her face-gaunt, bloodied, unrecognizable.
But the worst wasn’t what was shown.
It was what was heard.
At first, her voice-shaky, desperate-cried out through the speakers:
“Mom… Dad… it hurts so much… I want to go home.”
“Brother, help me! Please make them stop!”
‘Daniel… Daniel, where are you? I’m so cold and hungry… Am I dying? Did you give up on me too?”
The raw, bleeding hope in her voice twisted every heart in the hall.
Then came the silence.
Because even she had finally realized-no one was coming.
She stopped screaming. Stopped crying.
She simply curled up in the corner like discarded trash, too broken to even tremble.
Not a soul in the room dared breathe.
The projector’s light cast the horror into every eye-reflecting in tear-glazed pupils and stunnec expressions. Some guests sobbed quietly. Others stood frozen, hands over mouths, as if witnessing the dead rise.
Then-the screen went black.
Silence reigned again… until a laugh cut through like a dagger.
Not the laugh of joy. Not relief.
A girl’s voice, low and sharp and triumphant, coiled out of the speakers like a venomous snake.
