It was so warm and comfortable. Arthur opened his eyes and immediately shut them again. Golden sunlight shone through the open window, a rare occurrence in the United Kingdom. The gentle scent of the rose garden and delicious food drifted through. A light breeze ruffled the lacy curtains and flipped through the book that sat on Arthur's bedside table. The pale yellow walls was filled with framed pictures of his family and paintings from when Arthur was young. The Kirkland family wasn't rich, far from it, but they had a small and beautiful home in the countryside.
"Arthur! Arthur, wake up. Breakfast's ready!" a sweet voice said, along with the sound of sizzling bacon and toast popping up from the toaster.
Arthur pulled the covers over his head. He didn't want to get up yet. "Not yet sis, later."
She giggled and a gruff male voice with an edge of laughter said, "No stupid! Listen to Nealla. There is no later, get up now!"
"It's Isabelle, Scott. Not Nealla! Anyway, get up Arthur!"
"No..."
"What's happenin'?" a calm male voice asked.
"Hey Wallace, Artie won't get up."
"But big bro Artie has to get up!" a young boy cried. "It's momma's birthday!"
"See Artie? Even Peter wants ya to get up."
"I don't wanna..." Arthur whined.
"I don't give a fuck about what you want, little bitch. Get the fuck up!" Somebody slapped him hard.
Arthur woke up. And he was not in a warm, happy bed. Where was he?
He sat up and abruptly hit his head on something that made a very loud clanging sound.
"Well, dickhead? Get up!"
Oh.
He remembered now. He was in a cage. His sister wasn't laughing and cooking; Scott wasn't jokingly yelling and smoking 24/7; Wallace wasn't calm and collected, spewing out facts like a computer; and Peter wasn't happy-go-lucky and oblivious to everything. They were all enslaved, just like he was.
"I can't get up, bloody wanker. I would just hit my head wouldn't I?"
That earned Arthur another slap and then he was pulled out of his cage by his now dirty and matted hair.
Arthur gritted his teeth as the man roughly tied his wrists together with rope that dug into his flesh. A collar was buckled around his neck and attached to a heavy chain.
"Where's Peter?"
"Who?"
"Blond hair, blue eyes. He's ten."
"That little midget that looked like you? He was taken to a factory. No one wants a kid as a slave."
Arthur's anger flared. Peter was going to be a child laborer, abused and worked to the bone until he was eighteen. By then he would probably be dead or damaged beyond repair anyway.
"Wallace?" he asked. Even though he hated this man, he was his only source of information. "Reddish-brown hair, tall."
"Apparently he was smart enough to get bought as a tutor, he wouldn't have been strong enough for anything else anyway, little pussy."
Arthur's heart rose a bit. Finally Wallace's usually annoying intelligence was useful.
"And Isabelle?"
The man thought for a moment. "The hot redhead bitch captured with you?"
Arthur winced at his sister being called that. "Yes."
His captor cackled. "Me and the other dudes had fun with her. Oh, she was fucking tight too. Then she got sold as a sex slave. Whoever gets her is a lucky little bitch."
Arthur's anger exploded. "You... You bloody motherfuckers!" Arthur shouted. "Scott's gonna escape. And then he's gonna skin all of you alive 'til you beg for mercy, but he will torture and kill you all!" Arthur then tried to roundhouse kick his captor. Unfortunately, the man was almost twice his size and easily grabbed Arthur's leg.
"Little asshole!" he yelled and punched Arthur in the face.
"Hey!" another, well groomed man shouted. "Don't damage the merchandise."
Arthur clutched his now swollen cheek. "I'm not fucking merchandise to be sold."
The new man shrugged. "You are now."