I stared after him for a minute, so relieved that I could barely stand it. Even walking on my twisted ankle, as I was forced to once Zechs was gone, could not dampen my spirits, nor could the tiny bed, or the coarse sheets.

The idea of waking, however, depressed me greatly, as I suddenly realized that I would yet again wake a slave, only this time to an angry master. I had won the battle, yes, but the war was already over, and I had lost. In the morning, I would still be faced with an angry overlord controlling my life, and I had no one to blame but myself, and my weakness.

A stronger man would have born it, internalized it, analyzed it, and become stronger for it. But a stronger man would have never allowed himself to become entrapped in such a situation in the first place. A stronger man would have been able to save his honor.

But I was not a strong man. At best, I felt like a weak boy. Thinking of what my "master" was doing to his slaves, mere children, beaten and corrupted by the evils of men, in the other room, being forced into whatever vile acts he wanted them to perform. They had not run, like cowards, to hide under the covers like a small child.

I couldn't help but think, suddenly and with guilt, that I had abandoned the other slaves. Would they hate me now? They had reason to, as their master would most likely take his anger and frustration out on them. I had been the outsider before, and often, but it was different now that these were truly my peers under my master. Were he to beat me, or rape me, or hurt me very badly, I might need their help. I doubted that the Owner's order not to wound me would hold up as well once we were in the privacy of Zechs' home. It hadn't with the other masters who had tried to force me into heeding them, but I had always been smart or strong enough to evade them. Now I could not resist. My honor, whatever I had left, would not allow it.

It broke me, to think of my own weakness, and the strength of the other slaves, to bear up under such conditions as these. My tears were silent, and my sobs non-existent as I vented the pain of slavery imposed on myself and those around me. I buried my head in the pillow, turning my head to the side to breath, gasping and sobbing almost silently. This pain, could any man bear it? The chains I was confined by, they burned my skin and tormented my soul. I wished I would die, but my honor would not let me end my suffering by taking my own life. What little honor I had left.

Spent from my period of weakness, I fell into a deep slumber. I hadn't slept so deeply since I was last with the Owner, because I could not trust the other masters not to attack me in my sleep. Now, it did not matter. I had lost to Zechs, so if I could sleep through his depraved acts I would be more than pleased, but I doubted I could. The acts would be as painful as they were humiliating.

With that thought, I allowed myself to pass out. At least my dreams were not trapped by the confines that caged my body, and I slept deep and well.

Which, in retrospect, was in fact my downfall.

It was hours later, in the point of deepest darkness just before the dawn, that I noticed something moving outside my realm of consciousness, but I dreaded waking to find that it was my perverted master, reading himself to use me. My eyes were heavy, puffed from crying and sticky from where the tears had dried. I loathed opening them to the gruesome reality.

There was a crackling noise, and I pulled myself a plane closer to consciousness, but was yet unable to fully wake. The crackling stopped, and I was about to let myself drift into a deeper sleep when I felt someone touch my neck, and something being stuck to it, like a sticker.

I was immediately awake. I glared above me, readying myself to scream profanities at that bastard Zechs, but I halted in fear at the sight above me. Instead of my master, there was a stranger standing above me, wrapped in black, a maniacal grin on his face.

"The mistress wants your skin!" he hissed, revealing a long dagger in his left hand.

I tried to retaliate. I attempted to lash out at him with a powerful kick, but what I managed was to haphazardly toss my body to the side. For some reason, my body would not obey the commands I gave to it. What was wrong with me?

"I thought you were smart!" the stranger laughed, "how the hell can you not know there's a down patch on your neck?" he asked. A down patch was used to subdue or sedate wayward slaves. I only had a few seconds before I would be completely unable to move.

Gathering all my strength and the concentration I had learned through meditation, I aimed one solid kick at him. I had hoped to kick his hand, to remove the knife from his possession, though I wasn't sure what I would have done after that. Instead, I only managed to knock him backwards, into the dresser and causing him to knock over a lamp, which shattered loudly.

"Bitch!" the stranger hissed, bringing the knife down in a slow arc. I managed to twist out of the way, but the blade still cut the tender flesh of my thigh. The pain pierced me, but I could no longer move my mouth to scream. In another moment, I could not move at all.

And standing above me, a dim light radiating from an unknown source to glimmer from his bloody weapon, was the stranger. I was helpless at his mercy, which I doubted he had much of. I would be skinned alive.

Please, someone help me!