Late to Protect Her

I crouched beside the assembly line, my fingers nervously fiddling with the tiny surveillance camera hidden in my sleeve. "Idiot, hurry up and pack! You dragging your feet to get yourself beaten?" Foreman Brian Carter's polished shoe kicked near my feet, mud splattering onto my faded coarse cloth pants. I grinned dumbly, purposely letting saliva drip onto my chin, mumbling, "Y-yeah... yeah..." This was my third day undercover at the H processing factory. To the outside world, I was Hannah, the mentally challenged girl with no family; but inside, I was Sophia Lynn, the city reporter sent to expose the forced labor scandal. The factory reeked of machine oil and sweat, dozens of people moving like puppets, repeating the same robotic motions. No one dared to look up, no one dared to speak. It wasn't until the evening whistle blew that I finally saw her. She was curled up on a tattered sack in the corner of the warehouse, her hair a tangled mess, her face bruised black and blue. At the sound of footsteps, she suddenly shrank back, her eyes full of pure terror. "That's Lydia, the crazy one. Don't pay any attention to her." A nearby woman worker quietly tapped my arm, her voice barely above a whisper. I nodded, but as I passed by, I deliberately dropped half of my bun at her feet. She stared at the bun for a few seconds, then suddenly grabbed it and shoved it into her mouth, chewing fast and harsh, like a scared little animal. At night, I was jolted awake by muffled sobbing. In the shadows by the warehouse's back door, Brian Carter was yanking at Lydia's clothes, his rough hands groping her. "Even crazy folks are useful sometimes, don't struggle!" Brian Carter's laugh was rough and nasty. Lydia struggled violently, wheezing hoarsely like a busted bellows. I clenched the surveillance camera in my pocket so hard my fingers went white. This place is crawling with Brian Carter's men; if I bolt now, it'll all be for nothing. Then, Lydia suddenly stopped struggling. She lifted her head, her once cloudy eyes suddenly shining with a terrifying clarity. "Let me go!" Her voice was hoarse but packed with unshakable resolve. Brian Carter froze for a moment, then cursed even harder: "Crazy b*stard still dares to talk back!" He raised his fist and slammed it hard onto Lydia's head. Lydia's body collapsed like a kite with a broken string, blood instantly trickling from her forehead. I couldn't hold back anymore and was about to rush over when I saw Lydia struggling to reach out, pointing straight at me. Brian Carter thought she was trying to fight back and kicked her chest several more times. Lydia let out a muffled grunt, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth. "Take a picture..." Her voice was barely above a whisper, but her eyes were fixed on where I'd hidden the surveillance camera. "Help me... take a picture..." I immediately hit the record button. Through the lens, her face was smeared with blood, but her eyes burned with fierce determination. "Give it to... Simon Shaw..." She said the name with tears mixing into the blood streaming down her face. "My brother... Simon Shaw..." Brian Carter seemed to sense something and turned his head toward me. I quickly crouched down, putting on a dumb, vacant look again. When I looked up again, Lydia was already still. Brian Carter checked her pulse, cursed "bad luck," and ordered two workers to drag her away. I stood there, my palms slick with cold sweat. Simon Shaw—that name stuck with me. That night, cloaked in darkness, I used the tiny communicator hidden in my hair to reach the newspaper office. "It's urgent. I need to get out right now and contact someone named Simon Shaw." I kept my voice low, my heart still pounding hard. "Simon Shaw? Isn't he the CEO of the Shaw Group?" The editor's voice was full of surprise. I froze. That crazy girl, beaten nearly beyond recognition in the factory, was actually Simon Shaw's sister, the rising star of the business world?