Zechs wondered, for the eighty-sixth time that evening, just how he got himself into these situations. Here he was, being lead down a dirty hall filled with cages. If that weren't enough, the cages were filled, not with animals, but with human beings.
"We usually clean them up a bit before we hand them out," said the older maid who was in charge of the facility, "but seeing as your in such a hurry we didn't have time to him."
"It's fine. I'm sure one of my assistants will clean him up once we get home," Zechs said in a dismissive manner. He had no interest in becoming associated with a woman who could allow such cruelty from day to day. In truth, he had no assistants at home, but that was not what the woman would expect from someone in his position.
Zechs watched as the numbers on the cages rose, finally stopping at cage #89, where the matron began shifting through her keys to open the door. Zechs was given a small glance of the pale, dirty, underfed boy inside, huddle in a corner, nearly naked except for a piece of fabric fashioned into what could only be called a loincloth, which was also torn and dirty. The woman found the key and quickly opened the door, entering and harshly pulling the boy to his feet. The boy stood, but had to bend down, as the collar around his throat was attached to a short chain locked onto a beam inside the cage. The woman unlocked it, then led the boy out on a short chain.
"Walk, damn you," she hissed at him, though he boy made no resistance as she pulled him out of the cell to stand in front of Zechs. "Well," she said, "I know he's not much to look at, but no one's gonna expect you to work miracles with a reject like this. He's a stubborn one, though, you'll need a firm hand to handle him," she finished, handing the chain to Zechs, who pretended it didn't revolt him.
In actuality, the boy was not much to look at. Months of being locked in a small cage with little to eat had withered his once muscular form. Zechs, however, could still make out just a hint of the tone that once inhabited the boys muscles, and could still see just a trace of fighting stance in the demure way the boy stood. What he could not see, however, was any kind of stubbornness, or personality at all, really, in those blank and broken blue eyes on the boy's haunted face. The youth was mainly Japanese, Zechs thought unhappily, but might be from mixed origins because of the blue eyes.
"I'm sure I can handle it," Zechs replied, still looking the boy over. Despite seeming weak and fragile, the boy didn't seem to have many recent wounds, save a few bruises scattered along his back and legs. There was some scarring on his back, though, that looked to have come from a whipping, along with many more scars that looked like battle wounds to the older man. Zechs barely managed to keep himself from cringing.
The boy, as though sensing Zechs's thoughts, shivered softly, and Zechs wondered for a moment if it was fear before realizing how cold the boy must be without any clothes. Even with a full coat on, Zechs could still felt a slight chill.
"Could I perhaps bother you to get the boy some clothes, mam?" Zechs asked. The woman frowned in confusion, for what good were clothes to a pleasure slave? Still, she called for another slave, this one a servant, who ran and fetched the boy a robe, which the woman held out for him. His eyes slowly drifted up to it, but he seemed uncertain as to what to do with it. The woman, losing her patience, slapped him roughly on the back of the head before shoving him into herself, the turning to stomp off, leaving Zechs and the boy alone.
Despite his robe being wide open, the boy simply stood there, looking at the ground. Hesitantly, Zechs stepped forward and tied the boys robe for him, hoping that the boy wasn't truly daft. Slowly, the boy's eyes moved up from the ground and Zechs was finally able to see that it was not stupidity causing the boy to hesitate so, but fear. Wanting to comfort the boy, Zechs placed a hand on his shoulder and gave it a soft squeeze, but the boy only flinched and lowered his eyes to the floor. Before Zechs could say anything else, the matron returned with a small tag, which she attached to the boy's collar.
"Here's his tags, so everyone will know who he belongs to if he ever gets away. He's got a strong collar on, so don't be afraid he'll be able to break the chain or anything. He'd strangle himself before he could get out of this thing," the woman said with a small chuckle. "You've got a week or two to start training him before you'll need to head to the station for the games. Take him home tonight and give him some bread, then you can start whatever you want with him tomorrow. Oh, and he's been out of commission for a while, so be careful. You don't want him bleeding all over the good linens, if you know what I mean."
Zechs knew very well what she meant, so simply nodded his head and gave the boy a small warning tug on his chain before turning to walk down the hall. Obediently, the boy followed as Zechs walked down the hall and to his limo, always a step behind his master, as all slaves walked. When Zechs entered the limo and sat down, the boy knelt at his feet on the floor.
"It's not very safe to sit on the floor," Zechs cautioned, "Sit beside me."
It was not until the command came that the boy moved, and when he did it was stiffly. The boy sat against the other side of the limo, keeping his eyes on the floor. Zechs sighed, then reached across the boy, who tensed drastically, and buckled the boy's seatbelt for him. Zechs leaned back against his own seat and sighed once again, then pulled out the boy's registration papers.
"Where to, sir?" the driver questioned from the front seat.
"Home, if you please. Then you can go home as well. I shouldn't need you any more this weekend," Zechs told his driver.
"Very good, sir," the driver said, and closed the panel that separated the front seat from the rest of the car.
For the duration of the drive, Zechs amused himself by looking over the contract that allowed him to buy the boy, which was so unfeeling and inhumane that it was almost comical, while the boy stared out the window blindly, barely aware of his surroundings. Once in a while Zechs would cast small, sad glances toward the boy, but didn't dare more than that until they returned home.