Disclaimer: I do not own Avatar.

A/N: So, I lied. The Gaang is not in this chapter, but the next. I'm on vacation, so I will try to post as soon as possible. Read, REVIEW, and enjoy.

P.S. Shenzuul: Your feedback is greatly appreciated. Thank you :D

Six

"Battle not with monsters, lest you become a monster,

and if you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you."

-Friedrich Nietzsche

"Dinnertime! Come n' get it, you stinkin' hog-monkeys."

As the other prisoner's rushed forward, crawling over one another in a tangle of emaciated limbs, Isa curled further into her corner of the cage. Iron bars pressed against her spine. Through a dark curtain of tangled hair, she watched the guards swing their buckets, full of barely edible scraps, just out of reach. The prisoner's begged, their skeletal arms reaching desperately, while the guard's kicked them back with iron-toed boots and laughed. It was entertainment to them.

She had been there for two short days and already Isa hated the guards perhaps as much as she hated Azula. When they finally tossed the contents of their buckets through the bars of the cage, the prisoners became something less than human. They clawed at one another, prepared to go to war for a possum-chicken bone that still had a few shreds of sinewy meat left. The overpowering smell of rotting food made her stomach churn, but the sight of her fellow prisoners was far more sickening. She saw a man kick a young boy in the ribs for a moldy cabbage leaf. Most of them didn't even bother picking the scraps off the dusty ground. They crawled face down with their mouths open, licking slops from the dirt.

Isa couldn't watch for long. She let her hair fall into her eyes once more and tucked her knees into her chest, trying to make herself as small and unnoticeable as possible. She had tried so hard to escape the desert, and now that she had miraculously found her way out, she longed to return. She would have gladly drowned in her sand pit rather than suffer the degradation, the pure torment, of her current prison. Isa was still unsure how or why she had ended up in this place. She remembered waiting for Azula to find her, her heart pounding so loudly it was bound to give her away, and then she'd woken up in a barred compound, locked away with two dozen others. She'd made the mistake of asking the other prisoners where they were and had a nice collection of fresh bruises to prove it. Isa had tucked away her questions and retreated to her corner of the cage. No one bothered her if they didn't notice her.

Isa's mind had been reeling non-stop since she'd woken, the gears in her dusty thoughts searching for an escape route. It didn't really matter how she'd gotten there or where it was exactly that "there" was. The most important factor was how she was going to get out. So far she'd found no solution. She had memorized her surroundings as a trained assassin always should. Their floorless cage was fourteen feet long, eight feet wide. On the other side of a square dirt yard was another cell identical to Isa's. Both of them were enclosed by a grey stone wall, too tall to be climbed. She had tried slipping through the iron bars of her lockup, but even half-starved she couldn't fit. None of the guards carried keys. Even if they had she wouldn't have been able to get close enough to steal them. The guards enjoyed kicking anyone who approached them. After encountering one dead-end plan after another, Isa had accepted that she would simply have to wait for an opportune moment. Until then the only plan was to remain as inconspicuous as possible. However she hadn't gone as unnoticed as she'd believed.

An apple dropped onto her head and rolled into her lap. Isa, on edge for an attack, leapt to her feet and swung a punch. Her fist stopped just short of an old woman, grinning at her toothlessly. Isa let her arm fall, but her body remained poised for defense.

"What do you want?" Isa snapped. The old woman didn't answer. She bent over, grunting with the strain it placed on her brittle bones, and retrieved the apple that had rolled away in Isa's sudden launch.

"Eat," she ordered, thrusting the fruit under Isa's nose. Reluctantly, Isa accepted. She inspected the apple, pressing her thumb into the blackened spots and watching a smelly brown juice surface. She grimaced.

"Get used to it," the old woman cackled, revealing her bloody gums again. She sat down and gestured for Isa to do the same. Still suspicious, Isa crouched in her corner. Her eyes never left the old woman as she took a small bite of the rotten apple. It took every ounce of self-restraint not to spit the rancid slop back up. Isa focused on the ache deep in her belly as she forced herself to chew and swallow, even though it made her eyes water. The old woman appeared pleased. They continued to watch each other as Isa quickly devoured the apple, trying her hardest not to actually taste it. She rolled the gnawed core between her palms, choosing her words carefully.

"What do you want?" Isa repeated her previous question, but this time out of curiosity, not hostility. The old woman shrugged her bird-like shoulders. Isa hadn't noticed her before amongst the others.

"You've learned quicker than most to keep your head down," the old woman stated, her milky eyes flashing in approval. "I heard you asking questions the other day, figured I could give you an answer or two."

"Why?" Isa asked sharply.

"To pass the time." With surprising agility, the old woman snatched the apple core from Isa's hands and began to munch on it. "They're easier for me to eat when they're rotten," she chuckled. "A lot softer."

Isa ignored her. She was torn between curiosity and a deep-rooted survival instinct. The last time she'd asked any questions, she'd been beaten to a bloody pulp. In fact, as of late, she'd landed into trouble each time she'd opened her mouth. Isa was sorely tempted to take a vow of silence. But how much damage could this old woman cause, with her spine curved so far inward she looked like a human question mark? Who better to have answers? Perhaps she'd be able to give Isa new insight, a way out. With a sigh, she made up her mind, and pushed her hair out of her face in a gesture of trust.

"Okay then," she said slowly. "I'd like to know where we are."

"Yaa," the old woman answered promptly. Isa's brow furrowed in thought as she recalled the maps she'd studied in Master Masao's library.

"I've never heard of a place called Yaa," she stated after a moment. The old woman cackled again, spraying mushy flecks of apple against Isa's face. She wiped them away in disgust.

"That's because it isn't a place. It's my name. Ain't most polite conversations supposed to start with introductions?" Isa glanced over their surroundings and decided not to reply. This wasn't exactly the place for polite introductions and she certainly didn't intend to tell anyone her name. Luckily, Yaa didn't ask her to, instead she moved on to Isa's question.

"You, little Miss, are in Ba Sing Se." Her pronunciation of the Earth Kingdom capital was horribly butchered, but Isa understood. Well, that explained the constant noise coming from the other side of the stone wall. She'd assumed she was in a city of sorts, but Ba Sing Se!

"And do you happen to know how I got here?" Isa asked quickly. Yaa, however, was in no hurry to answer. She finished munching on the mutilated apple core and tossed it aside, where two hungry children immediately pounced. She watched them fighting for a moment, clucking her tongue sadly, before turning her attention back to Isa.

"Two desert folks, you could tell they was desert folk by the weird wrappings they had all over 'em, well they brought you and sold you to Nasser. Earned themselves a sack of coins too."

"Nasser?" A dark cloud passed over Yaa's wrinkled face. She leaned in closer to whisper in Isa's ear.

"Yeah, he's the master here. Everyone who's anyone in the Black Market knows Nasser. He sells more slaves than anyone else."

"Slaves!" Isa reared back in shock. The full danger of her predicament was coming to life. She was in a slave pit. At any moment she could be sold again. Rage swept through her at the thought. For too long she had been a puppet of the Fire Nation. She couldn't bear returning to that.

"Eh, you're lucky though," Yaa continued. She reached out to stroke Isa's smooth cheek. "You might be pretty enough to catch the eye of one of the wealthy buyers. Old women like poor me are always put to floor sweeping and crop picking."

Isa's eyes widened until she feared they might explode. A rich man's whore! Never. She refused to stoop to such a level. Her days of slavery were through. Never again would she be controlled by anyone.

Before Isa could ask anything else, a commotion erupted inside the pen. The other prisoners ceased their scavenging and began to retreat away from the cage doors. Over the sound of their panicked yelps and cries of pain, Isa heard the guards shouting.

"Back, all of you!" There was the familiar crunch of steel-toed boot as it met an unlucky prisoner's ribs. Isa tried to stand, both for a better look and to keep from being trampled, but Yaa pulled her down with unexpected strength. Her milky eyes were crazed with trepidation as she kept a tight hold on Isa's wrist.

"Stay low," the old woman hissed, her voice static with fear.

"What's happening?" Isa's mind was in a whirlwind of turmoil. She gaped at the prisoners. Some of them were trying to squeeze through the narrow bars, no matter how futile the attempt was, and others were crouching low in the mob, out of sight, like herself and Yaa.

"It's auction day," Yaa whispered, her stale breath creeping into Isa's ear. "Nasser's coming to decide."

"Decide what?" Part of her training as a Fire Nation assassin had included rigorous meditation sessions. The ability to remain calm in all situations, to keep a steady mind, was necessary in her line of work. Isa struggled to regulate her breathing, but the panic of the other prisoners was contagious. Looking into Yaa's clouded eyes, glazed over with such hopelessness, Isa gave up and resorted to just holding her breath.

"Decide everything," Yaa declared. Before the old woman could explain further, a sudden hush fell over them. The prisoners became stone statues, hardly daring to breathe, or even think for the fear that their thoughts would be too loud. Isa felt them trembling around her, one entity, united by terror. As one, their eyes turned to the gate. Now that most of the prisoners had fallen to their knees, cowering low to the ground, Isa had a clear view of the man now standing at the front of the cage, flanked by two guards. However, while everyone else seemed captivated by the man, Isa was far more interested in the open gate. Perhaps if she ran fast enough…Yaa must have sensed the girl's temptation in the quickened sprint of her pulse, because she dug her claw-like fingers into Isa's wrist, refusing to let her go. At the same moment two more guards moved in front of the door, brushing away any slim chance of escape.

Isa turned her focus to the man. One glance was enough to confirm in her mind that he was Nasser. She had imagined someone like the guards, but this man went beyond cruelty. His black eyes, hard like the jewels sewn into his fine clothes, swept over the prisoners calculatingly in much the same way that Azula often stared down her prey before a kill. While the guards were amused by the prisoners' suffering, this man seemed not to notice. To him they were not human, therefore they could not suffer. It was his total disregard for their humanity that made him such a lethal adversary. Whereas the guards were uncouth and unclean, Nasser wore a polished air. He stood like a man who had been born into power and wealth, a man who stood above the world and thought little of it. He was like an assassin himself. Cold.

Nasser moved closer to the swamp of ragged prisoners. His steps were light, as though he wanted to touch as little of their dirty corner of the universe as possible. Isa remembered what Yaa had said when she'd asked what he was here to decide. Decide everything. The prisoners shuffled aside, parting for Nasser. Isa looked away from his straight-edged face to his stylish foot ware. Her lungs burned, but she didn't dare breathe. Then he stopped, so close that she could count the stitches in the intricate embroidery of his arrow-toed slippers. Isa couldn't resist. She looked up through the dark tangle of her hair and wished she hadn't. There was no turning away. Their eyes locked. Isa felt as though she was staring into the very heart of the unknown, a swirling black abyss that enveloped her very existence. Yes, this was a man who could decide everything, and in the poisoned web of his mind he had just spun Isa's fate.

Without a word, Nasser turned to his guards, nodded once, and departed. Yaa inhaled sharply and dropped Isa's arm as though she'd been burned. The old woman scrambled away. Isa realized that the others had as well. She found herself alone. Nasser was gone, but their eyes had now turned on her. She was trapped by their haunting stares, more fear than pity. They looked at her as though she was diseased. Distracted by the odd behavior of the other prisoners, Isa didn't notice the two guards swooping in on her. Each of them took one of her arms, lifting her to her feet roughly. For a moment she was suspended in the air by the force of their combined pull, and everything became clear. Nasser had chosen her. Chosen her to be sold.

Exhausted, starving, and wounded, Isa fought. All Master Masao's lectures on the power of calm escaped her. She welcomed the panic as an ally; it gave her strength she otherwise did not possess. As they dragged her to the open gateway, Isa dug her heels into the dirt. She released all of her pent up breath into a single howl that sliced through Ba Sing Se. Miles away citizens paused on the street, startled and chilled by the soul wrenching sound. The closer they brought her to the gate, the harder she struggled. Minutes ago all she had wanted was to escape her cage, now she would have done anything to stay.

Isa twisted her arm free of one of the guards and threw a wild, lucky punch. Bone gave way beneath her fist and blood blossomed from the man's broken nose. She tried to run, but the other guard's hold remained firm.

"Little bitch," the other man mumbled, his voice thick from the blood pooling at the back of his throat. It was the last thing she heard before a sharp blow to the base of her skull silenced her howl. Isa fell limp. In the panicked prison of her mind, she continued to scream.