Captured Novels & Stories

I glanced back at my place of capture; it wasn't what I was expecting. There in its beautiful glory stood a large country lodge with wide open windows, stained wood exterior, and perfectly pruned shrubbery. The multiple stories and pointed roof seemingly added to the illusion of a peaceful atmosphere surrounded by the woods. I ran with the girls across the freshly trimmed grass, gun in hand, and sweat starting to trickle down my temple from the tension. Screams were heard all around me, more guards and men in black were shooting at other men and women dressed in strange camouflage clothes. Hope was among them, guns blazing with her red hair shining like a torch waving in the wind.

On our wedding anniversary, Eugene tied me up on the rooftop of an unfinished building. He sat calmly before me, playing a video with deliberate slowness. In the video, my father knelt repeatedly, begging Eugene for my sake. My eyes burned with rage, but Eugene kicked me violently, snapping, "Do you feel distressed seeing your father like this? But how can it compare to even a fraction of the sorrow I felt when I lost Megan?" The sudden pain caused me to arch my back, and darkness clouded my vision, almost sending me into unconsciousness, yet I was powerless to scream.

Julian added. “It’s all connected,” Jasper said. “I just don’t know how yet.” Jasper’s phone buzzed again. He looked down. An alert. “What is it?” “The camera,” Jasper said. “I plugged it into a retriever. There’s one frame… just one that didn’t get corrupted.” He turned the screen toward Julian. The still image showed a man, tall, broad-shouldered, bald, dragging two people one a man the other a woman with a hoodie into a black SUV. Their faces weren't visible, but the scarf was clear.

He was hiding among the flower hedges, perfectly camouflaged by the leaf green hue of jacket he wore over his clothes. "Excuse me, sir," she said. He turned and a look of horror crept into his face. Christine had a clear view of him now. He was in a black shirt and denim trousers. And he wore a newsboy cap. A shiny black digital camera hung from his neck. "Who the hell are you?" Christine demanded strongly. He didn't answer. Instead, he smiled and his fingers folded around the camera. His hands moved and he raised the camera slowly up.

Knowing she would not use it if it was within the glare of people he had hidden it where he knew she would eventually find it. Wanted her fingers trembling with wonder when she finally dared to use it. Beside him, his assistant cleared his throat softly and passed him a tablet. Lucas accepted it, brows tightening as he swiped through the latest stills. There she was— Captured in time like a fragile painting. One image showed her at breakfast, a fork frozen halfway to her lips, bathed in morning light. Another—standing on the terrace, watching the sunset paint fire across the sky. Her face calm.

Sleek, dark, winged with red scanner lights that cut through the mist like eyes. Romeo cursed under his breath. "They found us faster than i thought". Jessica's breath trembled. "How?" Romeo glanced back at her. "Because Helix never stops watching". The lead drone spoke in a metalic snarl: "IDENTIFIED: SUBJECTS 06 AND 09. RECAPTURE PROTOCOL ENGAGED". Jessica froze. Aurora started to cry softly. Romeo stepped in front of them both. "Over my dead body".

My image would not be captured or saved. With a handkerchief covering my finger, I pushed the round button. A chime played within, its tune barely audible at my distance. The unlit porch light should probably have been an indication that Miss Natalie Banks wasn't expecting visitors, but this was the South. Hospitality, even at a late hour, was inbred. Keeping my face away from the side window, I waited as the interior entry filled with light. Seconds later, the door opened. "May I..." Miss Banks's welcome stopped as our eyes met.

So they strip the metadata and degrade the picture just enough to keep it psychologically devastating but technically safe. I sit there for a long moment, hands hovering over the keyboard, unable to type. The realization is slow and heavy: This is designed. Not in the poetic sense. In the operational sense. There are steps. Capture. Filter. Compress. Scrub. Deliver. Observe response.

While it’s possible some noblemen or male servants may’ve gotten stuck in the crosshairs and lost their lives, we fight respectfully whenever we can. Once I’m past the gates, I head to my tent to shift and get dressed. The taste of blood lingers in my mouth from the four wolves I killed on my way into the castle. A pitcher of water sits on my table, next to a glass, but I don’t rinse my mouth out. I savor the metallic taste of victory. “Your Majesty, the princess is secure in a transport wagon,” Curtis says as he walks into the tent. “Shall we be taking any other prisoners?”

And on the fourth floor of that building, just barely visible through the glass if you knew what you were looking for— A telephoto lens. They had been there when I walked into Kieran. They had been there for the catch, the waist, the held gaze, the blush I had not been able to prevent. All of it, captured at distance through two sets of glass, which would make the footage grainy and atmospheric in exactly the way that went most viral because it looked like something accidentally witnessed rather than deliberately captured. I picked up my phone and opened the clip. It was nineteen seconds long.