I knock firmly on the door of the longhouse, loud enough that anyone inside will hear it. With me are three other Peacekeepers.
I am making an arrest.
We received a tip off that this was the location of a brothel, and as such the owner is to be arrested as are his ... employees. On one hand, I am well aware that in District 12 the poorer girls of the Seam had to allow Cray to sleep with them in exchange for money which they could use to feed their families. At least one such girls ended up hanging herself in the dilapidated school bathroom. It is clear that very few would choose this life by choice.
On the other hand, these people are clearly breaking the law and deserve to be punished. Since I am not the one giving out the sentence, I can only hope that they get something like flogging and can hopefully live long enough to find honest work and the food that comes with it.
In any case, I will not have to kill anyone unless there are resistances to arrest.
The door opens, and a man in farmer clothes greets us.
"Is there a problem?"
I answer, using a firm voice. "We need to check the premises."
"Just make it quick." His voice has unveiled hostility, so it is clear he does not want us here. It could be because he is guilty and wants to hide his guilt, or it could be because he is innocent and does not like us invading his privacy.
In any case, we look carefully while the man who greeted us and five other men here are standing in a corner.
So far, we do not find anything out of the ordinary: just the inside of a filthy and muddy hovel. Then one of the other peacekeepers addresses me.
"Sir, you might want to see this."
I walk over to what he is talking about, and see a trapdoor in one of the corners.
My stomach is warning me that I probably will not like what I see in there, still we must leave no stone unturned.
Under the longhouse is a small room, one which looks like it was never cleaned once. However, what shocks us is the content of the room.
About seven girls are down there, their hands tied behind their backs with rope and some of them having burlap sacks over their heads. They are dressed in scant rags, so the scars they bare on their bodies can be seen clearly: whether they got these scars from being whipped or from resisting ... I do not know and I do not want to know. The worst part is that two of the girls look underage.
It makes me so sick that I feel a burning hear rising in my throat. I fall to my knees, pull off my helmet, and vomit on the ground. The bile hurt as it left my throat, but I had no way of keeping it in. I can see that two of the other peacekeepers are shaking with horror, and the third one is clenching his fists in anger (presumably he has more experience and was therefor desensitized).
When I finally am able to speak, I address the six monsters in the corner. My voice is an uneven shout.
"You're under arrest for human trafficking. Put your hands behind your heads right now!"
Another peacekeeper, the angry one also gives an order. "Once you do that, get down on your knees or else I'll blow your brains out!"
The sons of bitches do as they are told. But one of them, probably aware that he's facing execution (it's what he deserves), decides to bring one of us down with him.
Grabbing a rusty knife from the ground, he jumps at us. He is clearly aiming at me as I did not put my helmet back on. However, before he can reach me the angry peacekeeper fills his chest with lead. He falls face down onto the feces-coated floor.
We call in backup to bring all these people in, and also request a medic to treat the girls for any medical problems they may have.
The girls are not arrested, as they were forced against their will. In fact, their testimonies proved the final nail in the monsters casket.
When I get back to the base, my friends congratulate me on my first arrest, but when they sense I am not in the mood they let up and give me the space I need.
During the rest period, I watch a movie with the other peacekeepers as a way to distract myself. This one is about Captain Blight, and I have to day it is entertaining watching this sea Captain (who coincidentally has a District 2 accent) lead his men across a vast ocean on an overcrowded rowboat. Once again, the people who mutinied against him are portrayed as villains for condemning him and others to apparent doom despite him doing no wrong.
Like I often do when I witness a horror, I draw a picture of the event so that I can face it in a healthy way. My collection of pictures is growing steadily, but fortunately I can always buy paper and pencils at the depot.
The only good thing about today is that those girls will no longer have to suffer.