They Made Me Run On a Broken Leg. Don Had My Back Chapter 02

They Made Me Run On a Broken Leg. Don Had My Back Chapter 02

Clang.

The crutches hit the asphalt. A dull metal clatter.

I picked up the black tracker with the countdown. Strapped it to my left wrist.

Every step sent a tearing pain from my sole to the top of my skull.

I didn’t cry out.

I bit my tongue.

I looked up at the blinding sun. Took the first step.

Every step, the pins in my leg twisted inside the bone.

Sweat blurred my vision.

Santino drove slowly, five meters behind me.

Tires crunched over the road.

Elena sat in the passenger seat, window down, holding iced lemon water.

“Oh, Santino, look.”

“Doesn’t Sable look like a stray dog with a broken hind leg?”

Santino steered with one hand. A smile on his face.

“Worse than a dog.”

He honked.

Beep—

The sharp blast exploded behind me.

“Sable, pace is too slow!”

“Under 8 minutes a kilometer, this one doesn’t count. No money!”

My vision went black. My whole right leg felt like it was on a grill.

The edge of the cast rubbed my ankle raw.

I could feel the slight shift of the broken bone.

Five hundred meters.

Six hundred.

Eight hundred.

Breathing heavier. Chest tight. Lungs convulsing.

I stared at the tracker’s mileage. The numbers crawled.

I counted in my head. Teeth chewed my lip.

Beep—

The tracker buzzed.

First kilometer. 7 minutes.

My strength gave out.

I staggered forward, one knee slamming onto the hot asphalt.

Skin blistered, then tore, then bled.

Santino pulled up beside me. Window down. Phone out. A few taps.

Ding.

A bank transfer text. Deposit: 5000.

“Santino, you said 10000 a kilometer!”

I raised my face, covered in cold sweat and dust.

Santino leaned back in his leather seat. Flicked his ash.

“Your form broke in the last 200 meters.”

“You stopped for 2 seconds. That’s a violation.”

“Half. Five thousand.”

“What, not happy?”

Elena sipped her ice water. Chimed in with a smile.

“Sable, Santino giving you five thousand is already a huge mercy.”

“Don’t be ungrateful.”

The sun hurt my skin. The broken bone pulled at my nerves.

I didn’t cry. Didn’t tear up.

I stared at the transfer note.

It read, [Santino voluntarily paid labor compensation.]

I pushed off the scorching ground. Stood up, swaying.

“Continue.”

The second kilometer began. Not a breath of wind.

The heat was suffocating.

My vision doubled. The glare off the road stung my eyes.

Santino and Elena thought I was pushing through for the medical money.

They didn’t know.

The tracker on my wrist was more than what Santino gave me.

Against my pulse, embedded in the strap, was a micro biosensor I’d developed.

And a wide-angle pinhole camera.

A patent prototype I’d made for next-gen orthopedic rehab monitoring.

From the moment I left the company building, it was connected to an encrypted network.

Santino ripping the agreement. Elena’s laughter.

Every transfer record.

All synced to an independent overseas server.

Every step I ran, the system logged evidence.

Sweat dripped onto the tracker. The screen flickered once.

No one noticed.

They only saw a cripple, fighting under the sun for her brother.

But they forgot.

Someone who can write a base algorithm from scratch doesn’t leave herself without a way out.