The harsh hum of the city’s underbelly reverberated through the dimly lit corridors as they dragged me from my cell, the stale air thick with the stench of decay and sweat. My head still throbbed from the probe's assault, each pulse a reminder of the violation.
I forced my focus, scanning the tunnel walls, crumbling slabs tagged with grimy murals and slogans from a propaganda era long gone. Rust crept like a cancer, crawling into every crevice of this forsaken maze.
The guards flanked me, their patchwork armor a motley mix of rusted plates, frayed straps, and scavenged tech held together by a blend of desperation and ingenuity. Their battered stun guns hung loosely at their sides. They spoke in low, clipped tones, their words laced with the casual brutality of those who had long since adapted to the harshness of their world.
“Ya hear ‘bout them Red Talons?” one rasped, voice like gravel chewing gravel. “Left a line o’ stiffs by the old refinery. Pretty work.”
The other snorted. “Pfft, Black Veil’s been at it too. Hit Underhand’s stash last night. Jax ain’t gonna be happy 'bout that.”
Their chatter crawled behind my thoughts, a soundtrack of dead cities and worse men. Even with my weird ability to process the toxic air, it felt like breathing wet lead. My eyes darted to every shadow, wary of potential threats.
The chamber we entered stank of sweat, oil, and something fouler, burned flesh maybe. A circular platform rose in the center, grime and rust-streaked, surrounded by a shoddy rail barely pretending to hold back the mob below. Slavers, buyers, freakshow tourists. Faces twisted by money, boredom, or whatever passed for taste down here.
The lead slaver was a riot of bad decisions, plump and glistening, his outfit a crime scene of clashing fabrics and gold-painted plastic. Goggles the size of saucers sat on his face, turning his eyes into insectile distortions. Every movement he made was a theatrical flourish, his voice dripping with a peculiar blend of formality and condescension.
“Ah, splendid! A most curious specimen,” he drawled, a silken voice, adjusting his goggles with meticulous care. “Such a fascinatingly refined… character.”
He prowled around me, fingers twitching, itching to touch but holding back like a predator circling its kill, the restraint only amplifying the unnerving nature of his scrutiny.
“By the divines, what an exquisite find!” he sang, practically vibrating. “Truly, a marvel!”
The gang leader stepped up, a walking slab of meat with a voice like a landslide. “Price just went up,” he grunted, jerking a thumb at me. “Ain’t like the others, this one. Got that fancy look, with the hair and them eyes. And breathin’ the miasma? That’s worth a damn lot more.”
The slaver’s eyes gleamed behind his goggles. He leaned in, calculating.
“Breathing the miasma, you say?” he murmured, half to himself. “Now that is something. How much are we talking, my good man?”
“Triple,” Jax said, his breath rancid with the smell of cheap synth-beer and half-rotted food. “Then we talk.”
“Triple, you say? My, my, ambitious, aren’t we?” The slaver’s smile was all teeth and velvet. “But let’s not descend into crassness. Mutual satisfaction, yes? We wouldn’t want to sour the relationship.”
“Ain’t no relationship,” Jax growled. “Just a sale. You wanna play, you pay.”
“Very well,” the slaver purred, waving a hand like he was swatting a fly. “But mind your tone. Dignity has value too, dear boy.”
My head buzzed, the slaver’s silky words clashing with the gang leader’s rough growl. I could feel the tension winding tighter between them.
“Quite the show, eh, master?” Arvie’s voice teased. “I’d say this is the part where you make your grand escape, but something tells me you’re not quite ready to leave the stage just yet.”
I couldn’t help but smirk. “Right,” I replied, keeping my expression neutral. "But we both know I’m stuck in this mess.”
“This place stinks,” she said, tone slipping serious. “They’ll gut each other, and you with them, if you stay.”
But at that moment, as if to prove her wrong, the slaver’s eyes flickered back to me, the cold glow of calculation behind those thick goggles. He nodded murmuring to himself in a tone that oozed self-satisfaction. “A rare asset... breathing the miasma, he says. Quite the addition to the right collection, indeed…”
The deal closed, as if preordained. The slaver’s muscle, two gaunt figures with the pallor of forgotten things, moved in with practiced precision. Rough hands slapped a blindfold over my eyes, the fabric rough and acrid against my skin, and the world shrank to the hum of hydraulics and the rasp of my own breath.
They shoved me into a transport, a big bastard from the sound of it, thrumming with power, armor-plated maybe. Something built to crawl through collapsed cities, not glide over them.
The journey blurred into a series of disconnected impressions. Engine growl. Blind dark. Voices like broken code. Arvie was a whisper in my skull, her presence the only anchor in the sick rhythm of metal and dread.
Then the transport stopped. The blindfold ripped away. The light stabbed like needles.
A seedy medical den, reeking of disinfectant and rot. No words. Just hands, shoving me into a pod. Cold metal kissed my skin. Activity buzzed around me as the pod sealed shut, the interior closing in, molding around me like a second skin.
A hiss filled the pod, gas swirling like some malevolent fog. My thoughts slowed, the world slipping away as consciousness faded. Arvie’s voice lingered, the last tether to something real, whispering through the encroaching void.
“We’ll get through this, you and I…”30Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWrCrVYQiTA
And then, nothing. Just the cold embrace of my bartered destiny.
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