Jason paced the room. He was recovered enough so he could walk without pain; they'd left him alone after the first day. Thanks to the restorative, he had recovered faster than he would have otherwise. The bruises on his thigh were fading. The wounds on his feet had almost faded to small, rough pinpoints of scars. The patch on his shin where his skin had been flayed off didn't need a bandage or salve anymore; it was healing into a large smooth scab. The chemical burns and cuts in his scars had healed to the point they didn't hurt. He did still feel phantom pains; he suspected that wouldn't go away. After being sliced into so many times, his scars cut even deeper into him, severing pieces of him he could never get back.

That had been their intention, he had realized when his mind was clear enough. A psychological tactic to pressure him. That's what all of this was. Including the escape, he suspected; the info about the room had been planted, giving him hope where there was none. That it was orchestrated seemed clear when the shadows had greeted him at the bottom of the tunnel—it had all always been leading here. To the dungeons. To crush his spirit, show he couldn't win.

The only thing that still hurt much was the devastating cut into his shoulder wound. It ground deeply into him, jarring him as he walked. He was due for painkiller.

Anger hit him. There was a strategy in this too.

Elena was the only person he'd seen since the first day. She was the one who had brought his meds, brought him food and water, changed his bandages, spread salve onto his wounds.

He shuddered at the memory of her touch. He had been at her mercy, unable to move. And later, he didn't have much of a choice—he didn't want infection. He needed his wounds to heal.

He'd tried to detach his mind, let it just be random touches… tried to ignore her. He couldn't attack her; her pregnancy was her shield. Now she was more fragile than ever. Ignoring her worked to an extent, when his mind had easily fogged from the extra pain meds, but now…. Gradually he'd become more aware and with it disgust had burgeoned—at her touch, at not being able to get out from under it.

He doubted she'd actually be able to give him Stockholm syndrome like he suspected she was trying to do. But he hated this sort of pseudo-attachment, this anticipation in relation to her…. Just because he had to rely on her to keep him alive.

Now that it was just his shoulder that bothered him, he did still need the antibiotics, but perhaps he could get by without pain meds… the problem was, he wasn't sure how long this interlude would last. He'd learned this was actually the waiting room, where people were held before interrogations. It wasn't a typical cell. It was just down the hall from the interrogation room, and just being here made him feel on edge.

After the interrogation, he'd been in a haze of pain for a while. Then it had merged with despondency. But now a little more light was breaking through. Maybe there wasn't anything he could do, but he had to try. Accepting slavery wasn't an option.

He'd tried to keep his mind stimulated, but there wasn't much he could do in here. There was no reading material. Nothing interesting in the drawers. Just the blank cement walls and floor, the table he had already memorized the grains of, the bed he was sick of lying in….

He'd lived in an imaginary world for a while but it always swept back toward Connie, and dwelling there for long was too painful.

So all there was left to do was pace.

And consider his situation, try to think of a way out.

But without knowing the details, the full layout of Beneath, he didn't have enough information to go on. He could visualize what he'd seen when first recaptured and taken to interrogation, but he'd been so out of it he wasn't sure if he could trust his memory.

He sat on the metal stool in front of the table, facing the door. And began to reminisce old missions. He'd restart training soon; he was dreading it because of his shoulder, but pain wasn't a good enough excuse to avoid striving for optimum.

What use will it be? said the despairing voice, which wasn't as all-encompassing as it had been.

The door hinges creaked. His heart stopped.

Elena stepped inside. She wore a red flowy shirt with a yellow flower and black pants. Her golden hair cascaded over one shoulder; her eyelids were swept with dramatic eyeshadow. Her red lips spread into a smile as her eyes zeroed in on his. He resisted the urge to drop his gaze; this time she was scintillating with power. That had been subdued the last few visits.

Guards flanked her as she shuffled toward him. As elegant as she was, she couldn't disguise the awkward movements of late pregnancy. She stopped at the table and gazed down at him. "You're looking well," she said brightly yet with an air of sharp appraisement.

"How is the baby?" he asked, his concern for Elliot's son one of the few things he had in common with her. He probably cared about the baby more than she did. He didn't like to admit it, but that was a…connection as well—her close call of losing her baby had reminded him of Connie's miscarriage.

She swept a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Everything's as it should be, considering the circumstances." She sidled over to the stool opposite him and slowly, carefully, lowered herself to it. He couldn't help a pang of sympathy. Her hand rested protectively on her stomach.

"The doctor scheduled the C-section today. We're going to try 37 weeks, just to make sure we catch it before premature labor. So the little one doesn't kill the both of us from blood loss." She smirked wearily.

"That's pretty early."

"It's what the doctor recommended. Actually he recommended 38 weeks but… I don't want a close call. This pregnancy has been much too harrowing for my liking. I've never had problems before; I forget these things can be life-threatening."

"You mean babies?"

She chuckled. "Pregnancy is a wonderful thing usually…except the last month and a half or so. But after this… the baby better be worth it."

He cringed at her wording. "All babies are worth it."

"You try carrying one for eight and a half months."

"You won't sell him, will you?"

"That remains to be seen. I'm gravitating toward keeping him even if he's underwhelming; I don't want to go through all this for nothing but another common slave. He'd better not be defective… or worse, die at birth." She tilted sideways to rest her elbow on the table, pleased reminiscence in her eyes as she looked into the distance. "You know… as long as the baby lives, I think he will be worth it. I practically wrote Elliot off, but now…." A smile spread across her face. "You've done something to him. Given him some of your steel. Your fire. I wanted to take him up as a sort of consolation prize, but he defied me. In my condition I didn't have the energy to pressure him like I would've."

Jason wasn't quite sure what she meant at first, then an inkling of what she'd implied began to dawn on him. Horror laced razors through his chest. "You—were going to—"

"My doctor has forbidden sex until at least a month after I give birth. I'm not about to risk the pregnancy just for a few moments of pleasure. But I did feel I deserved a reward for all my trouble. You were incapacitated, so I thought I'd take the next best thing. Play around with him a little bit. But ah! He's fulfilling his promise from when I first captured him. Not this callow creature that gives in the first time he's beaten up. He resists." She beamed.

"You…want that?"

"I want a challenge. Especially in a man I intend to keep. I'd discarded Elliot, as you know, but now, I think I'll keep him after all."

"So…you want him instead of me?" He felt awful for Elliot, but at the same time he felt a surge of hope that he would escape her attention.

"Unless you prove to be a disappointment, but I don't see that now. You've bounced back remarkably, despite what we put you through."

Resentment burned through him. "Thanks for that."

"It had to be done. You can't expect to try to escape and not be punished. Elliot will be my proxy for you when I need it. And provide an interesting dynamic."

He turned from her, detesting her words. His heart swelled with pain that Elliot had escaped Elena, only to be taken back again. At least he was resisting; at least Elena couldn't… do the worst to him.

Escape.

The word branded his mind.

Yet the pain was a harsh, cleansing agony like a wound being excised of infection.

A hand on his shoulder.

Elena, looking down at him, laughed musically. "Come on. I've got something for you." She held a paper bag in her hand that hadn't been there before. The guards were standing near the door stoically.

"What?" Dread hugged his throat.

"Your medicine. And some food and water. We've got to take a look at that shoulder as well."

"It's fine."

She raised an eyebrow admonishingly. "You can't check it yourself. Someone needs to do it for you."

"What about them?" He gestured to the guards.

She smirked. "I doubt they'd be very gentle. Come on. Take off your shirt."

He trembled. Before, with his mind foggy, it was easier to pretend he was somewhere else. Now… her incisive words had cut everything open again. He knew very well what and who he was facing and couldn't hide from it. Probably a good thing. The sooner he saw reality as it was, the sooner he could counter it.

"I'd rather not."

She shook her head. "It's the only way I can access it. Or do you want me to call the guards to help you?"

Choose your battles. That had to be one of his mantras here. He sighed. He really did need the wound healed as quickly as possible.

His shoulder aching, he peeled his shirt off and dropped it unceremoniously onto the table. Elena slid behind him; his heart rate sped up.

She peeled off his bandage and he flinched. Cold fingers slid over his skin next to the wound.

"Hm. It is healing nicely. To be safe, we'd better get some more salve on it."

He heard the sound of the cap unscrewing and then she set the container on the table. Cold cream spread over the wound; it hurt for a moment, then the pain disappeared as the substance tingled into him and the pain melted into pleasant cool numbness.

Elena stepped back to his side. "Was that so bad?"

He shook his head, feeling suddenly very weary.

Five more items she set on the table: a water bottle, three pill bottles, and a chocolate energy bar. He took a bite of the bar; it filled him with delight just to have a bit of food on his tongue. Then he dutifully swallowed painkillers, antibiotic, and restorative, then took another bite of the bar. He wanted to eat all of it, but he didn't want to give Elena the satisfaction that he was enjoying something she gave him.

"So, when will you stop starving me?"

"We're not starving you. Our energy bars are packed with the most nutrients for their size."

"I doubt this is enough calories for a grown man." Anger knotted his stomach, along with hunger.

"You'll get what you need when you need it."

She slid to the stool beside him. Her eyes flitting over him appreciatively. "You know, I kind of like that beard." She reached out for his chin; he dodged her touch. "It suits you. Gives you a kind of distinguished look that disguises your roguish character. On the other hand… your hair is getting a little long. You're a mess. We'll have to get you cleaned up before we can give you some new clothes."

His heart flipped over at the word 'clean'. He longed to scrub off the grime and dried blood, but he dreaded going to the showers again.

"Don't worry," she said as if she'd read his mind. "As long as you cooperate, you will be able to take showers on your own. In fact, I'm going to allow you free rein of this place."

"What?"

"As a reward for being so cooperative the past few days. Also—I don't really like the thought of you stuck in here. There's no need for it since you can't escape. There are some perks of Beneath. No strict schedule like Below. Of course, if you'd like a more pleasant experience, you'll have to wait until I summon you."

A lightning bolt shot through his heart. "You…."

"You didn't think I'd leave you down here all the time, did you? I don't mind visiting this place, but it has its limits. Above—there are no boundaries except the ones that I delineate. And the ones that are necessary…" She rubbed her stomach ruefully. Then her eyes strayed to him and undisguised hunger burned in her eyes.

"I'll never do anything with you willingly."

"So you've said. But you haven't experienced what I have to offer. When you taste what you've never even imagined before, you'll gain a craving for more. I do hope that'll come sooner, since most men fall for me one way or another, but in the end, to break through your formidable resistance, I'll probably have to use my foolproof method."

He snatched his shirt up and tugged it down over his head, ignoring the spike of pain in his shoulder the pills couldn't quite dull. He strode over to a random place near the wall, trembling. Longing to punch through the wall and escape.

But I've got to do this carefully. Be much more circumspect than before. Probably escape on my own, secretly, then tell the agents outside… find out the layout. Find out all intel possible. And get out before she has a chance to implement any of her plans for me… not that she can tear my soul from me….

Her footsteps stopped several feet away. Her voice was colder as she said, "I want to tell you something before I leave. Your friends—you would like to know what happened to them?"

Pain twisted his heart. He turned to face her.

"They are more or less fine. Elliot is back up with me of course. Serhii has to be punished. And subdued. But we haven't determined its vector yet. Sahara… we are not sure how much she was involved."

"She wasn't."

Elena smirked, her eyes icy. "We know she was involved to some extent. Since the beginning, when you began to gravitate toward your little group, you put targets on their backs. Did you think we wouldn't keep track of who you associated with? We've been following them closely, discerning patterns. Some of them significant, such as the 'book club'. Your inner circle. It seems the others were a bit on the outside, but we can't be sure to what extent. Or what roles they have. This is something we need to find out."

"Why can't you just leave them alone?"

"They could be plotting something further. It's true the heart and soul of the group is excised." She gestured to him. "But they still have a competent leader. We'll probably interrogate Serhii and that'll double as his punishment and conditioning. I think he needs a bit more breaking in to be a viable slave in the future. But we will also have to ask you some questions."

"I thought you weren't going to torture me anymore."

"When did I ever promise that? All I meant was that you wouldn't be cut into indiscriminately. It's true Val was going too far. I don't want you irrevocably damaged. But there are other ways…. Some we don't even have to touch you for them to be effective." She smiled wickedly and a chill ran through him.

With another flicker of admiration in her eyes, she turned and strode out of the room. The guards unlocked the door for her, and she disappeared around the corner.

He stood there, stunned, for a few moments. Then excitement overtook his fear and he snatched up the rest of the energy bar and stepped out the door.

He didn't even look to the left at the interrogation room, though his skin crawled. Wondering if they were observing him, preparing to pounce on him and drag him back inside, he veered to the right and sprinted down the gloomy hallway, past the abhorrent showers, to the central room.

The punishment cell lay in the floor, a concrete block over it. It sent a shudder through him, gave him a flashback of the crushing weight of darkness. But there was light here. Natural light, even if it was rather mocking. That wasn't its fault, anyway. Just the fault of the people who had created this place, carved it out, used the light to tantalize prisoners.

It didn't pierce his heart as badly now. It was benign, not the lure it had seemed. It illuminated the room in a soft, bluish, misty glow.

Something caught his eye to the left, glowing slightly, little concentrated dots of blue. Cautious, he was drawn to them. They were no lure, just something growing, something beautiful.

Little luminescent mushrooms growing on the wall. He touched one; it felt like smooth foam. He suppressed the urge to pick one; he didn't want to kill anything good. Beyond the mushrooms curved a dark corridor. He carefully stepped through it, trepidation hitting him; last time he'd gone through a tunnel, it had led here.

To his surprise, it was a smallish round room lined with little stone benches, a slightly larger shaft of light streaming through the center of the ceiling, and mushrooms glowing on the sheer walls of stone.

He stepped through the light and sat down on the bench on the opposite side. Then he devoured the rest of the energy bar, savoring its taste, the wonderful fleeting feeling of having food in his stomach.

His mind drifted into a pleasant daze that he vaguely realized was fueled by the painkillers. He lay back on the bench and drowsiness crept up on him, dragging him down into a sea of amorphous, lazily swirling shapes.

A hammer smashed down onto his heart and he shot awake, gasping for breath. Looked around for the attacker.

But the room was empty.

His heart crashed like a frantic fist against his chest and he leaned over, head spinning, his stomach tilting queasily.

Dear God, please, please help me. Please let me get out.

The weight of the stone above seemed to press down on him and the walls closed in. He leaped up, his stomach lurching, and reeled out of the room. His vision swirling, his shoulder slammed into the wall and pain bolted through it. He cried out and knelt on the cold cement, one hand on the wall, chest heaving, air slicing into his lungs. He couldn't stop his panicked breaths—he started to see dark spots—tears spilled onto his cheeks. He leaned over, forcing himself to focus only on his breaths, forehead resting on the floor, letting his breaths calm to a reasonable level.

After the black spots faded, he leaned back against the wall, his chest still tense, as if unseen fingers were drawing both sides of his lungs tighter like sheets. He laid his cheek against the wall, eyes half-closed, trying to dredge enough strength to stand again.

He didn't want to be caught in such a vulnerable position.

Of course, any strength was an illusion; he was entirely vulnerable here.

Despair threatened to drown him.

But a sharp pang in his heart wouldn't let him give in.

Connie waited for him.

He couldn't let her down.

He had to get out—no matter what the cost.

He had to be more careful this time.

They have all the advantages. What do I have?

It struck back into his mind what he'd been thinking before Elena had left; he resisted thinking it, but it insisted on presenting itself.

The biggest advantage I have is the reason I'm here in the first place—I can get close to Elena. Few others have that…privilege.

What can I do with that? What weaknesses does she have?

Get close enough to find out.

The idea was abhorrent to him. But he hardly had a choice. She would force him to be near her anyway. He might as well take advantage of it.

She would suspect me if I was suddenly cooperative. And I… could never be willing in anything she wanted.

But… to seem willing…

His stomach revolted at that prospect. But perhaps… he could resist for a while, then pretend to be drawn to her a little… gradually… just enough to compromise her…. Get some information or make her show him the way out—

How far would I have to compromise myself to compromise her?

I couldn't betray Connie.

Isn't not using all assets you have to get back to her betraying her?

I'm not exactly in the most advantageous situation. I have to use what I have.

With what he had seen and read in the past…. People who were at a disadvantage had to sometimes compromise their values… spying, dealing with a superior force, could be a much messier business than any sanitized reports or romanticized accounts… dealing with evil could demand part of your soul…

What would You have me do? You wouldn't want me to… sink to that level. You'd give me a way out… or… if it came to that… I might have to

Die before it happened.

Yes—I determined that. Connie probably wouldn't want someone that tainted back anyway. She'd rather I was loyal to her and my principles. Kept my bodily integrity completely… reserved solely for her….

Too late, whispered a voice.

No. That was different. I had no choice. I couldn't have done anything

You could've fought harder. You could've fought him off the minute he touched you. You had the capability. You were just too weak. Maybe some part of you wanted it to happen—

No!

He stood, jolted by his vehemence, but his head whirled again and he had to lean against the wall. Some of this lightheadedness was because of lack of food, he realized.

He knew he had frozen because of trauma. Which he detested. It didn't make sense to not move and to allow more bad things to happen to you. On some level he knew why it happened but – he couldn't shake the horror of being trapped by his own immobile body as that creep's hands began snaking across his skin—

Already ruined, came the insidious voice again. If you tell her, will she even want to touch you?

He shook his head to rid himself of that voice, though the feeling of shame lingered. Telling himself it was not shameful to be assaulted didn't sink in enough to wash away the feeling.

Now I'm faced with more of it.

She's going to try things. She just implied as much.

Panic built in his chest; that as much as the crushing weight of the stone separating him from the outside built the inexorable pressure in his soul.

She will take advantage of my vulnerability…. So I might as well take advantage of it too.

Not go past a certain point.

What point?

Not accept what she does in any way. But allow some things….. maybe let her think she's getting to me a little…

He shuddered.

He hated even thinking about such a thing. And there was the whole dimension of the baby, who was a child of rape…. It was unfathomably messed up; he could hardly absorb the meaning of it, probably couldn't see it in its full horror until he had escaped, because it was just one part of the neverending horror.

One thing she can't do is force me. I don't care what she does, she won't be able to make me attracted to her.

That filled his heart with immense relief.

Although it had happened to others…. He didn't accept that it could happen to him. If he didn't allow the belief in its possibility to take root, it couldn't become real.

On another level, he knew that there were probably some things she could do to him, and he could do nothing against her…. She held all the power here.

But one thing she could not do. Could not make him have any real feelings for her. No matter what she did.

What if she ruined me completely…. If she made me unworthy of Connie, perhaps I would deserve to stay a slave…. I wouldn't be myself anymore then, just a thrown away rag.

Is that what the others are then?

Well…. No.

Tired of the debate in his mind, the awful things swirling in it, he slid along the wall to the next doorway.

It was one of those large, vault-like iron doors with a lever. It filled him with dread; it probably wouldn't open. But he tried it anyway. To his surprise, it swung open.

Dark horror breathed through its throat. But he supposed he should know what was going on down here as far as he could…. Elena had given him free rein, so he probably wouldn't be punished for exploring. But you never knew.

The hallway opened to a dark round room lined with barred cells. In the center was an adjustable bed with a pleather surface. Above was a bright light like in a surgeon's theater. Along the right edge were cabinets, machines with wires…

A shiver ran through him. He felt that any moment the door would slam shut and he'd be trapped. He raced back out, gasping once he reached the main room as if he had held his breath the whole time. Perhaps he had….

The next room was similar, only larger, with more beds that lined the center of the room. And—to the right—an elevator door.

He pressed the button experimentally, but of course it needed the right biometrics. He pushed on the sleek metal door. It was as solid as a wall of rock.

Perhaps I could get someone to take me inside it…

Back in the main room, he came face to face with what had brought him here.

The tunnel. Cool air rushed out of it, spreading an unpleasant chill over his skin.

Perhaps I could try again…. Look for another tunnel… maybe one they don't know about.

Dread filled him at the thought of going back into it…. But perhaps he should try, not let feelings get in the way.

He stood in front of it, staring its darkness down. Then he took a step forward

The next thing he knew, he was lying on his back, pain lacing through his body, his joints aching from the electric shock.

The monitor—they must've turned it back on….

Good to know….

The pain gradually faded, although a vicious fist seized his shoulder, throbbing inside it, the painkiller not sufficient to dull it.

Slowly he pushed himself to his feet. Like the other times he'd been shocked, his limbs were shaky; he couldn't quite get a handle on them. Movement was slow and painstaking. His fingertips tingled; random patches of numbness settled in his body. Pieces of his mind and memory seemed inaccessible.

It'll come back, he told himself to calm his alarm.

Weary from the pain and exertion, he trudged back to his cell. It almost felt…homey after this. He realized that was part of the psyop too, but he couldn't do anything about it. He needed to rest. He shuffled to his bed and collapsed onto it, then let sleep creep up and claim him.

A few minutes or a few hours later, he woke up with an unsettled feeling. The gray room coalesced around him, his heart dull with the constant horror and mind-numbing malaise.

But there was a distant sound that hadn't been there before…

Rushing water? Or… distant cries… animals of some kind….

It grew louder, echoing through the door.

His heart flipped over.

It was screams.

He dashed out of his room; it was coming from the one room he hadn't investigated yet. It grew closer until something seemed to burst open and the cries grew exponentially louder.

Distinct voices now—sobbing, pleading. He longed to help them, but a gripping fear held him back.

Disgust at himself poured through him at his hesitance and he ripped the door open and dashed through it.

Kids surged into the large room through an open elevator. Guards were grabbing at them. There were some adults too; they were more subdued and hung in the background, some pressed against the wall, eyes filled with fear.

A little girl raced over to him, her eyes wide. He held out his hands, ready to protect her. Just as she was about to reach him, a guard snatched her up and slung her over his shoulder. "You're not supposed to be in here. Get out."

"What are you doing to them?"

"This is intake. We parse the cream of the crop into their respective sections, test them to see what they're best at. Now leave."

"I'm not letting you hurt them."

The guard scoffed and charged toward him with a shockrod.

Jason stepped back, running into a woman who was pressed back against the wall. She had large brown eyes and looked completely bewildered. There was a bloody slash across her cheek.

He reached for her hand; she limply let him take it. "I'll help you." He vowed to come back for the others.

He led her through the corridor; as he did, he realized it was lined with cells with doors and small windows.

A guard came toward him from the opposite end. "Don't interfere." He brandished the shockrod.

Jason put his body between the woman and himself. "Don't touch her."

The guard chuckled. "Want her for yourself? Maybe we can arrange that…."

"Get her processed," called the first guard, his voice echoing through the tunnel. "Beat him back if you have to." He shook his head. "I'm calling his minders. We've got enough trouble without him…" He snatched at another child and handed her to a guard, who threw her with a little boy into one of the cells.

Jason stepped forward; the guard blocking his path rammed his shockrod onto Jason's arm and the woman's hand slipped from his. She faltered backwards and the guard darted forward and slammed her against the wall, then flung her into the nearest cell and shut the door.

"Get out while you still can," said the guard with a smirk.

Instead, Jason looked into the room where the woman had been thrown. She was crumpled on the floor, her body shaking with silent sobs. Jason tried to open the door—but it wouldn't respond.

He looked in the next few windows; there were children inside, huddled together. Some crying in a corner. One little boy in the center screamed, crying for his mother.

Jason headed back into the intake room, knowing he could do nothing for the ones in the cells.

A little girl looked up at him, standing in the center as the chaos rolled around her. She had large green eyes, dark hair cascading over her shoulders. Her clothes practically rags, yet something regal about her. She was probably about eleven or twelve. He crouched in front of her. Held out his hand. "Hey," he said. "I'm Jason."

She stared at him. Perhaps she didn't speak English…

"I want to help you," he said, wanting to do something, give some sort of comfort where there was none.

"I'm Sa—" she began.

A guard grabbed her, holding her sideways against him; she struggled. Jason ran toward them; a burst of pain hit his arm from behind and he spun to face his attacker.

Kent smirked at him.

Gleb came at him with a shockrod and hit him; Jason leaped backwards to avoid them. But the two converged, slicing a path through the few people still in the room. Jason had to watch not to run into anyone. With his eyes off of his attackers, they moved closer, pressing him up against the wall, and Gleb slammed his shockrod into Jason's stomach.

He doubled over and they took that chance to attack. He tried to defend himself, but blows rained down and soon he was curled up on the floor, covering his head. Then came the kicks. At least he could protect his stomach and chest, but the kicks hit his back and legs. A vicious boot stomped onto his side, then hurtled into his stomach. He choked from the pain of it.

"Alright, that's enough," said Gleb, looking down at him with an amused expression. "We don't want to break Elena's fragile prince." He grabbed the front of Jason's shirt and hauled him to his feet, pressing him back against the wall. Then he grabbed his chin, holding his jaw firmly. "Don't interfere again. Or we'll have to up the stakes."

What do you mean? he felt like saying, but the words were trapped in his throat. Pain chomped on his limbs and back. He'd lost this round. What had he expected. To somehow save all the slaves?

Just help them. Somehow. Just one of them… do something that made a difference in a small way…

But even that had been futile.

His 'minders' pulled him forward, each holding one arm, and dragged him back to his room.

Jason was afraid they'd stay inside with him, but with a parting glance, they left.

The door clanged shut behind them.

He tried the door, but it was locked again. It was almost a relief this time. Beyond it was nothing but pain and anguish. So far, all he'd experienced in here was boredom and a little discomfort.

He paced the room, his heart aching from what he'd seen. The terror the people felt…. it embedded in his heart like barbs. They were trapped here, like he was, and Elena's guards could do anything to them.

He couldn't stand the thought of what they could be experiencing now… He longed to help them, wished he could burst through the cement walls. Rescue them before they went through something horrific….

Even more than Below (the floor above him now), this place revealed the reality of slavery, without any of the thin veneer. Undisguised evil. As vacant as the bare walls. As dark as the interior of the coffin buried in the floor.

He lay on his bed facing the wall, his back to the room he now knew was just down the hall from him. And did his best to shut out the echoes of the screams.