Eliza woke up the next morning to the sound of twittering birds. She hadn't slept much, but she knew that there were others in the world that probably hadn't slept at all. She would be grateful for what she had. Like breakfast, for instance. It may have only been a piece of toast with some butter, but it was much better than nothing. After that, she returned to her floor and showered in the community washing area. After her hair dried, she brushed it out before reapplying the blue streak of wash-out color. It was the Home's way of marking its girls. The color contrasted pleasantly with her red hair, so she didn't mind it much. Resistance was futile. She knew that. Because she had a photographic memory, she would never be able to forget.
It was her niece's fourth birthday party. Her sister – said niece's mother – was hosting the party at her house. It was a cookout in late spring. Her father had actually made an effort to come to a family event for once, so Eliza was happy that day. Kara was turning four years old. It was a happy occasion. Kara's older siblings – Millie and William – were gorging themselves on cake. Kara's father held Kara in his arms and talked about his little "big girl". Eliza's brother, his wife, and their son, Lewis, had also showed up that day. Lewis was three and was getting into everything that he had been told not to touch. It was chaos, but Eliza was still happy. Her mother leaned on her father's shoulder and told him that she loved him, and he hugged her a little tighter.
Eliza went inside to use the restroom. When she came out, the happy scene was gone. Her parents lay in a pool of their own blood. Her sister had been stabbed with the same knife that was used to cut the cake. Her sister-in-law lay dead at the bottom of the slide, and little Lewis lay slain at the top of the playground. Eliza's brother was on the other side by the playground stairs, always protecting Lewis and trying to make sure he never fell backwards off of the jungle gym. But now he laid face down, his body stretched over the stairs, his arms thrown forward in one last attempt at protecting his young son. William's face was planted into his portion of cake, and blood poured from his head and onto the dessert. Millie was a few feet away from the table, and Eliza guessed that she had tried to run and hadn't made it too far. But worst of all, her brother-in-law sat in a lawn chair with Kara still in his arms, the same sword running both of them through.
Eliza blanched. She screamed. And then a Cyniclon appeared. He aimed his weapon for her, but another materialized just in time to stop him. "Janshi waata keedeen." 'She is pretty,' he had said.
And from that moment on, Eliza knew that her life balanced on a knife's edge. She must do everything she could to earn the Cyniclons' approval. It was why she discouraged rebellions. It was why she never joined them herself. It was why she had never tried to run away from the Home. It was why she was given glares by the other girls. But most importantly, it was why she was still alive.
Lizzie trudged behind her captors. They had reached a nearby town. The sun shone at its zenith in the sky, signaling high noon. Lizzie dropped her head and looked at her feet. The dirt path changed into a cracked concrete paving. The manacles on her wrists were painful. Her feet burned with the exertion. They had been walking since a little before sunrise. The Cyniclons didn't have to walk. They could have teleported. But they had walked her this far to wear her out and make her look tired. She would appear submissive from exhaustion, and they would get a good price. Lizzie spat on one of their backs; the one with flaming fuchsia hair and grey eyes. He turned his head and growled at her like some kind of dog. The purple-haired one said something in a clipped tone, and the one Lizzie would now refer to as 'Dog' backed off.
They came to an old city hall building. Around a year ago, some mayor stood on its porch and made an announcement to the townsfolk. But now it was a haggling stage; the marketplace of the System. Lizzie struggled, trying to get free. But she was so tired that she didn't have much strength in her. She was led around to the side of the building where the rusty trailer of an old semi-truck was stationed. It seemed like an odd place for a semi's trailer.
The violet-haired Cyniclon – Ringleader, Lizzie called him – waved over a Cyniclon with white hair. The two began to converse in Cyncloni. She heard Ringleader say, "keedeen," among his garble of indecipherable speech. The white-haired Cyniclon looked at Lizzie with indigo eyes. He turned back and grumbled to Ringleader. Ringleader started shouting, and one of Lizzie's other captors – the one with rust-colored hair – winced. 'Rusty' must not have liked conflict. Either that, or Ringleader was spouting off some choice expletives.
The white-haired Cyniclon made a gesture with his hands before holding out his right palm. Ringleader grabbed that hand with his left one and slapped it gently with his right while murmuring something. The other shook his head and overturned Ringleader's left hand with his right and slapped it with his left. He said something as well. Lizzie recognized the Cyniclons' manner of bargaining. The palm-slapping continued for several minutes; the voices of the bargainers growing progressively louder. Ringleader shouted, "TRONKA!" and slapped. The white-haired Cyniclon replied, "DOULA!" and slapped. "TRONKA!" Ringleader repeated before slapping again. "DOULA!" the white-haired Cyniclon insisted. "TRONKA DAN NIL!" Ringleader argued with a slap. The white-haired Cyniclon glanced at Lizzie before murmuring, "Doula det mische." He slapped Ringleader's hand. Ringleader nodded. He slapped again before the two shook hands like old friends and laughed. Ringleader spoke to his lackeys, and Rusty pushed Lizzie forward. The white-haired Cyniclon, whom Lizzie now called Doula, brought out a sack and counted out some coins in the Cyniclon currency. He handed them to Ringleader, and Ringleader handed him Lizzie's chains. She had just been sold.
Doula directed Lizzie to the back of the trailer. He undid her manacles before shoving her inside and slamming the door behind her. Inside the trailer, several other humans sat on the cold, metal floor. Only two of them looked up at her. Lizzie could deduce from that that only those two were fighters. Lizzie refused to sit. She stood. "Like cows on their way to the slaughter house," Lizzie concluded. Outside, someone spoke in loud Cyncloni. Then a small door at the front of the trailer opened. A Cyniclon stepped in and grabbed a young boy around thirteen or fourteen and forced him outside. The auction had begun.
Eliza went about her chores. "Sweep the floor. Dust the furniture." It may not have sounded like much, but the Home was a renovated mansion. There was a lot of floor and a lot of furniture. She was sure that the Home would never sell her now. They depended on her. She did most of the cleaning, and she did her best to stop uprisings. Surely they wouldn't get rid of their most helpful charge, right? At noon she made her way downstairs to the kitchen where the girls lined up for lunch. This consisted of a vitamin tablet and a Mountain Dew. Calories, caffeine, nutrients. That was their main diet. Eliza swallowed the pill with a swig of the sweet liquid. This would sustain her until evening.
Lizzie watched the trailer empty. One by one, every human was auctioned off. She was the last one in the trailer. As the Cyniclon worker dragged her out, she was pushed onto the porch of the city hall, a sea of Cyniclons carpeting the lawn. They all stared at her as the auctioneer – who turned out to be Doula – rattled on quickly in Cyncloni. Lizzie heard the word "keedeen". She squinted her green eyes against the sunlight after being in the dark trailer for so long. The auctioneer's voice began to rattle faster as Cyniclons floated up from the ocean of bodies. Within a few minutes, only one buyer remained in the air; the rest sinking to the ground with disappointed looks on their faces. The remaining Cyniclon had blue hair and black eyes. He floated up to the stage and pulled out a brush and a tube of color. Grabbing a streak of her hair, he took the color and squeezed some onto the strand. He used the brush to spread the glob of blue all down the length of her hair. He turned and tossed a bag of coins in Doula's direction. Wrenching Lizzie to himself, he teleported.
Eliza stood up in shock as the air rippled in her dorm. The House Owner appeared with a brunette girl whom he shoved onto the bed. "This is your new roommate," he told her before leaving.
Eliza bent over to inspect the girl. She wasn't injured badly. Touching her hair, Eliza noticed that the streak of blue paint had yet to dry. This girl was a late purchase. Those always meant trouble. Eliza frowned a bit before asking, "What's your name?"
The girl looked up at her with dazzling green eyes. "I'm Elizabeth," she said.
Eliza raised her eyebrows. "But… my name is Elizabeth."
"Well then," the girl pushed herself up off of the bed, "you can call me Lizzie."
"Alright, Lizzie," she replied. "Call me Eliza."
Lizzie took in the sight of the redhead with the brown eyes that sat on the edge of the bed. This one was submissive. She could tell by the way her eyes were dulled. "But," Lizzie noticed, "she hasn't lost her shine completely. She's still sane, anyways."
But as Eliza looked into Lizzie's eyes, she saw a defiant fire raging there. "This one might get all of us killed," she worried.
Kisshu got into the back of the transporter. He was leaving empty handed… again. "No one at this one either, sire?" asked the driver through the window.
"No," Kisshu replied somewhat sadly. He sat on the futon and glanced at the holo-scrolls that lay scattered on the table in front of him. But he wasn't in the mood to make laws today. He stared up at the ceiling as the transporter moved forward. He sighed longingly. "Koneko-chan… Why couldn't you love me? I gave up everything, and still you… You chose to die with him rather than be with me. Ichigo."
