(A little over 5 years ago)

Shawn shifted, trying to get comfortable on the hard warehouse floor. He should probably be glad that he was being left alone instead of going through more 'training', it meant his plan was working. They thought he'd learnt his lesson after he'd tried to run. They thought he was broken.

They were wrong, but at this rate, the boredom might break him before their training did…

His dad's lesson echoed in his memory. "One of the best advantages you can have in a fight is being underestimated. Make yourself look small, weak, scared, and the other guy will let their guard down. That's when you strike."

Shawn bared his teeth and leaned further back into the wall, hating how the collar dug into his skin. Remembering his dad hurt; it made him want to hit and bite and be the animal all of these 'trainers' thought he was. After all, all of this was his dad's fault; he always had to be the hero. And now he was dead, and Shawn was collared, and nothing was ok anymore.

That wasn't fair; Shawn knew who really deserved the blame. But thinking about his dad was safer. At least he had an excuse… Shawn screwed his eyes closed and pressed the tears back. Spencers didn't cry. He didn't care what these assholes said; he was still a Spencer.

The man next to him moved, the clinking of his chain making Shawn look over. The man caught his eye and slowly reached out to squeeze his shoulder. The tears grew harder to control at the small comfort, and Shawn tried to focus on his neighbor instead of his emotions.

The dim lighting from the small windows made it hard to see, but he looked around forty, and the prison tattoos on his arms made it easy to guess why he'd been collared. His eyes were kind, though, even as he looked away to scan the rest of the captives in the large room. Shawn leaned into the touch in silent acknowledgement and followed his lead, taking in all of the people who the trainers said weren't people anymore.

There weren't any barriers to the collar. Shawn wasn't the youngest one in the room, and more than a few people had deep wrinkles on their faces. A full range of skin tones, genders, hair colors and body shapes were represented, all of their differences taken away by the metal circles around their necks.

A loud siren wailed, and Shawn jumped as the overhead lights clicked on. The man squeezed his shoulder one last time before letting go and shifting to his knees. Shawn followed his lead, bowing his head and putting his hands behind his back. He'd tried fighting the routine the first few days. All it had earned him was pain from the collar, bruises on his arms, and having to eat with his hands locked behind his back.

It was too early for the daily meal, wasn't it?

Mechanical clicks sounded out through the warehouse as all of the new slaves' hands and feet were restrained. Which probably said something about their captors, that the short chain leashes keeping them in their rows weren't good enough. After a minute, Shawn heard footsteps moving closer, and he watched as several pairs of shoes and boots walked past. The last one, a shiny pair of dress shoes, stopped right in front of him. "What about this one?"

"It gave us some problems at first, but it seems to be taking to the training now. And it's young; people will pay more for a slave with extra years ahead of it."

"Agreed. Add it to the schedule for testing."

Shawn clenched his jaw at being talked over like he was a thing. He'd waited long enough; whatever this 'testing' was, it would have to do. He'd show them.

He'd prove he was still a person.

(Present day)

Shawn kept his eyes on the game board as he helped set up the chess pieces. After Gus' push-ups, he'd declared they needed a greater challenge. Which Shawn promptly translated to mean Gus thought he had a better chance of winning with chess.

He was never going to get used to his new master.

He'd made Gus mad -actual mad instead of being ordered to make him mad- and his master had apologized to him. And the really scary part was that part of him had known he wouldn't be punished. He finished setting up his last piece and chanced a glance up.

"Ok." Gus met his look with a challenging grin. "Same rules. Show me what you've got; I order you to win."

Gus was different; Gus was nice; Gus treated him like a person. Shawn felt something strange rise up in him, pushing with the same energy as defiance, but without the sharp, angry edges. He met Gus' eyes and challenged back, "Double stakes."

"You do realize I've been holding back, right?" Gus made his first move.

Shawn made his move immediately after and answered in a British accent. "There's something I ought to tell you. I'm not left-handed either."

"Dude." Gus stared at him in shock before snapping out of it and taking his turn. "We totally need to rent that next."

Shawn didn't try to hide his smile; that hadn't been the plan, but it was a nice side-effect. "It's so good. The Inigo and Westley fight is iconic."

"You seem a decent fellow, I hate to kill you." Gus held out his bishop like a sword before moving it back to the board. "Have you seen Men in Tights?"

"No, I haven't."

"We'll add that to the list too."

The game continued, and while Shawn was holding his own, it was more of a challenge than he'd been expecting.

"Check." Gus sat back with a smirk, and Shawn studied the board.

He had two moves he could make, one that would leave him open for Gus to swoop in for a win and one that would keep the game going longer. He'd been ordered to win, and slaves did as they were told. But Gus had earned the win, and it felt wrong for Shawn to win two and a half times in a row.

"People are better than slaves; you can't win."

He'd been staring at the board too long. He glanced up and saw a knowing look on Gus' face. He'd know if Shawn lost on purpose.

"I don't want to play with you anymore. Get in."

He tried to shake away the memory as he made the move that would keep the game going. Gus was different. And Shawn was being good.

"Need to take a break?" Gus asked without moving.

Darkness surrounded him as he laid on his side, his knees hugged to his chest, metal bars digging into his shoulder. Time passing without meaning.

Shawn shook his head harder as his heart pounded in his chest. Gus wanted to play games, Shawn was enjoying the games, Gus wanted him to win. It was just another thing he did that was weird. It was fine. "I'm ok."

"I really doubt that," Gus sighed as he made his next play.

Shawn's next move was obvious, but he didn't take it. The whole situation was wrong. He was being good, Gus was being nice. Shawn had even been told the rules, and they were simple… He shouldn't be scared. He didn't blame Gus for being frustrated; he was frustrated too.

"I'm sorry," Shawn said, suddenly needing to explain. Sweat broke out on his palms and he picked up one of Gus' captured pieces to cover up the feeling.

"For needing a break?"

"For… earlier. For now." Shawn turned the piece in his hands as the overpowering smell of perfume blew in from his memories. "I had a master… a mistress. She was my age and liked playing games. She didn't like when I won."

He glanced up as he caught his breath. The shock had been worth it for the look of pure outrage on Missy's face.

"I will win every game we play," she commanded. "Do you understand?"

"It must be embarrassing, being so bad at games that you have to order a slave to lose." Shawn waited for his collar's warning beep before sarcastically adding, "Missy."

She moved faster than he'd given her credit for, and his face stung as he jolted sideways from her slap. She towered over him and spat out, "Be quiet."

The horse in his hands spun faster, galloping between his fingers. Gus stayed quiet and Shawn continued, "She liked it even less when I mouthed off."

"So why did you do it?" Gus asked, not sounding at all like a master.

"I had to." Shawn shrugged and tried to find words that explained better. "It was worth a punishment if it helped me stay me." He caught the horse around the neck, stopping it in its tracks. "At least, I thought it was."

Missy opened the closet door in the hallway, her finger still over the red button of his remote. "Get in."

Shawn took a step forward and stopped when he saw the large cage inside. He shook his head, knowing it wouldn't do any good. "No."

Pain overtook him as the collar activated, his body locking up and falling to the floor. Every muscle screamed as stars burst in front of his eyes, and it was still going; it wouldn't stop, it wouldn't ever stop. Two infinite seconds later, Missy let go of the red button and pointed to the closet. "Get in, or I'll have Daddy put you in. And he won't be as nice as me."

He could barely breath as his whole body trembled; how was he supposed to move? A kick to his side motivated him to try anyway, and he focused on one limb at a time, practically dragging himself to where he was supposed to go.

The cage door closed behind him, the bars vibrating as a padlock clicked into place. He could hear the smile in Missy's voice as she said, "Maybe you'll be good tomorrow."

A door closed and he was left in darkness.

"It was the first time I'd been kenneled. She left me there for two days before deciding I was worth playing with again." Shawn kept his eyes locked on the knight in his hands. Why was he saying this? Why was he telling his master how to hurt him? What had gotten into him?

Gus was quiet for a long moment before breathing out, "What a fucking bitch."

Something Shawn hadn't even noticed uncoiled in his stomach and he breathed easier. He reached out and made his play, still not ready to look up. He hadn't talked about his past… ever. It was the first time anyone had cared. It was the first time he'd ever felt safe enough to say it.

Gus took his turn and quietly said, "Thanks for telling me."

"You're welcome." Shawn moved his king, seeing how Gus was driving him into a corner. Strangely, he didn't feel trapped.

One of the downsides of Gus treating him like a person was how it made being a good slave so much harder. His small voice liked being let out, and it very much did not like being put back away. He had to bite his tongue through the day to keep from talking back to Mrs. Guster. Unfortunately, she'd decided he needed extra supervision as they made the house ready for the first dinner with a client.

"Everything has to be perfect…" she sang under her breath, following behind Shawn as he dusted, adjusting all of the trinkets that he'd put back exactly where they'd been before. If she'd asked him, he'd tell her no businessman would care about the exact angle of the family photos or the microscopic amounts of dust on the shelves. But a slave didn't correct its master. A slave did as it was told.

"There's so much to do." Mrs. Guster looked around with a critical eye. "Everything has to be ready before Friday so we can focus on cooking. After lunch we'll take care of the front yard."

Shawn eyebrows raised, but he stayed on task. She didn't usually tell him what the plan was for the day.

"I need to have Bill talk to Mr. Fuller about those bushes. Again." She shook her head with an eye roll. "The Lord has a sense of humor, keeping that man alive…"

Mr. Fuller kept coming up in dinner conversations, but Shawn still hadn't seen him. He almost wanted to at this point; anyone who could cause so much annoyance had to be interesting to watch.

"Shoot." Mrs. Guster looked at her watch. "I lost track of time. I'll be in the other room; once you finish that, you can have your break."

"Yes, ma'am," Shawn acknowledged, looking at what he had left to finish. It shouldn't take him too long.

She left the room and he kept cleaning, forcing himself to take the right amount of time instead of speeding through the last bit. Shortcuts always came back to haunt him… but they were still so tempting.

He finally finished and folded up the rags to go in the wash. As he turned to head towards the stairs, the table in front of the couch caught his eye. Or, rather, the large purse sitting on top of the table.

His small voice burst out of its box, yelling at him to look, to know more, to survive. He clenched his hands around the rags, keeping them from twitching. He'd been being good, Mrs. Guster hadn't complained about him being the "wrong type" for over a week, he couldn't… The bag was under his hands, already being opened as he tried to talk himself out of it.

The rattle of the silverware drawer opening eased his nerves, and he kept an ear out for where in the kitchen Mrs. Guster was. He rifled through the purse quickly, only seeing the wallet, make-up, and supplies he'd been expecting. A bulge on the inside caught his attention, a thick rectangle hiding in one of the inner pockets. Water started running in the sink as he found the right zipper and looked inside.

His eyebrows rose at the wad of cash stuffed inside the pocket. It was definitely more than she'd make from her pies. A slip of white caught his eye and he pulled it out, skimming over the numbers and odds. He looked between the paper and the money and huffed a laugh; Mrs. Guster was a liar. And a gambler. That could be very useful information someday.

He quickly put everything back where he found it, glancing nervously at the kitchen door. There hadn't been any other noises since the sink; he had to be careful. He picked up the rags that he'd dropped on the floor and went upstairs, thinking over the possible uses of his new information.

Gus had been leaving things out for Shawn to do on his breaks. He wasn't exactly subtle about it. Shawn looked at the paper laying on the desk and debated with himself. Was it better to do what Gus wanted him to do, or to show that he could do his own thing? A strange question rose up from the back of his mind: what did he want to do?

He tried to shake the thought away, but it stuck with him, like a plastic wrapper from the crackers at a salad bar. What did he want to do?

He knew what he didn't want to do. He didn't want to fold paper. The movements were too precise, too new, too controlled to do after holding himself back all morning. He didn't want to sit, either. He stepped forward and reached out for the paper, running his thumb along the cut edges. What about doing something old?

The desk drawer seemed to open of its own accord as Shawn gripped the handle, and the object he was looking for was right up front. He rolled the pen in his fingers before kneeling and taking the papers with him to the floor. He needed a solid surface, but he wasn't going to sit in Gus' chair. Even if he was pretty sure Gus would be ok with it.

His first few lines were shaky as he made motions he hadn't used in over five years. They slowly smoothed out as he adjusted his muscle memory for his bigger hand. Lines and curves and circles started to fill the page, linking and intertwining randomly. A fast beeping broke through his concentration, and he jumped, the pen skittering off of the last line. He quickly identified the sound as his break timer, and he shook his head at how fast the time had flown by.

He reset the timer and put everything away before contemplating his drawing. It was complete nonsense, just ink scrawled across the page, but he'd made it. All on his own. He folded it carefully and tucked it in the basket of snacks.

It was his.

Shawn let out a breath and shook out his arms before leaving the room to go back to work.

Warm water ran over Shawn's shoulders that evening, easing his sore muscles and washing away the sweat and dirt from all of the yard work. He and Mrs. Guster had worked outside all afternoon with the mowing, weeding, and pruning. He'd been tasked with the physical jobs while she'd focused on the work that required an eye for detail. Judging by the list she was muttering while they took their break in the shade, they still had several more hours of work to go.

Shawn put his washcloth back in its spot and gave into the luxury of just standing under the water for another minute. He wasn't hurting, he wasn't cold, he was allowed to take his time. It was a gift, and he wasn't going to take it for granted.

Another gift was having three meals a day, and his body apparently hadn't gotten the memo to not get used to nice things. His stomach growled at him as he dried off, informing him that it was expecting to be filled within the next hour.

He shook his head at its audacity as he pulled on the clothes he'd picked out. He took a second to glance at the mirror when he was done with the hair routine; his face still looked weird but he was starting to get used to it.

Doors opened and closed downstairs, and Shawn's reflection smiled at him; Gus was home. He checked that he hadn't left anything out of place before leaving the bathroom, looking forward to whatever he was going to be given for dinner.

"Hey Shawn," Gus greeted him downstairs.

"Hi… Sir." Shawn barely caught himself as they walked into the kitchen.

Gus' smile grew for some reason, and he gave a small wave of acknowledgement to his parents. His mother held up the phone and told him, "We're getting takeout; do you have any requests?"

"Nah, I don't need anything. Leftover ham sounds good."

Mrs. Guster glanced over to Shawn before rolling her eyes and dialing the phone. Gus ignored the reaction and dug through the fridge, pulling out the container of leftovers. "Shawn, can you get drinks while I heat up the food?"

"Yes, sir," Shawn acknowledged. Gus usually managed to find a way for both of them to be working on the same thing. It still felt strange, but it was easy enough to do what he was told. And, in this case, it meant he'd be able to eat sooner. That was always good.

Less than five minutes later, Shawn and Gus were eating delicious food, and Mr. and Mrs. Guster were still waiting for theirs to be made. His master had definitely had the better plan.

"So, Bill," Mrs. Guster said. "Did you see the work on the front yard?"

"Yes I did, it looks good."

"You know what doesn't look good?" she pressed on. "Those bushes growing through our fence."

Mr. Guster groaned and kneaded his forehead. "I've told Fuller, time and again, that the fence is in the right spot! But nooooo, he has to fight for two measly feet."

"Yes, I know why the fence is overgrown. I'm asking what you're planning on doing about it."

"I have some weed killer that would probably work," he grumbled.

Mrs. Guster sighed. "We both know that would just cause more fuss. Even if he deserves it. We'll trim them back tomorrow. If he doesn't like it, then he should hire a surveyor instead of just being a miserable old man."

"I don't have much homework; I can help tomorrow," Gus offered. Shawn looked up, surprised at how eager he sounded about yard work.

"Trying to get back at him for all of the lost balls?" Mr. Guster asked knowingly.

Shawn snorted before he could stop himself, and Gus looked over with a light glare. Shawn froze before recognizing the look that his master used in most of their friendly arguments. He relaxed and looked back down at his plate while the conversation continued.

He had to stay good when he was around Gus' parents.

He still had to remember his place.

Mrs. Guster ordered Shawn to take care of the bushes in the morning. Gus joined him with a look that clearly said he'd complain loudly if given any other job, and his mother just rolled her eyes as she held out two sets of pruning shears. "Cut it past the fence, I don't care what it looks like once it's off our property."

"Yes, ma'am," Shawn answered, staring at the tool in his hand. Apparently being sold without a stabbing warning meant people just handed him potential weapons on a regular basis.

Free people were weird.

"You ok?"

Shawn tore his eyes from the shears. "Yes, s-" –Mrs. Guster wasn't nearby anymore– "Yes, Gus."

Gus shook his head with a sigh and reached through the fence to cut the first branch he could reach. "What about Friday? Will you be ok then?"

Shawn followed his master's lead, moving quickly to catch up, even as the small twigs and branches scratched his arms. "I can do what I'm told."

"I was more worried about afterwards." Gus reached as far as he could, grinning as he cut the next branch much shorter than it needed to be.

"Masters don't usually worry about after," Shawn pointed out, deliberately not thinking about the times his masters had paid attention to him after a get together. Gus gave him a look, and Shawn remembered who he was talking to. He nodded in concession and actually thought about the question. "I… don't know?"

How exactly did he define 'ok'?

Gus didn't seem to enjoy cutting the next branch as much. "I guess that's fair. Is there anything I can do to help?"

Slaves couldn't tell their masters what to do. But Gus wouldn't want him to say he was fine. The problem swirled in his head, only disrupted by a warning beep.

"Damnit. Don't-"

"You threw the gag away." Shawn flinched; he'd just interrupted his master.

"Yeah…" Gus said, not acknowledging the mistake. "Though, technically, you threw it away."

"You ordered your slave to throw it away, so you threw it away," Shawn argued. And that was a really ridiculous thing to be arguing about. He shook his head and brought himself back on track. "The first time I was gagged with it, I was serving at a party. And you threw it away. You… you're already helping."

He wasn't breaking any slave rules, other than talking too much, but he still felt the tension telling him he was doing something wrong.

He cut several more branches back before Gus answered, "I'm glad. But I'd like… If you think of anything else, I'll make sure it happens too."

Shawn stayed quiet and focused on his task. Gus didn't understand what he'd said, and he didn't know any better words to say it. It was more than the gag.

"Burton!" Mrs. Guster yelled from the other side of the house. "I need a hand!"

"Coming!" Gus hollered back. He gave Shawn a concerned look and asked, "You good?"

"I'm good," Shawn said truthfully.

"Alright, I'll be back in a few minutes."

Gus walked off and Shawn kept working. Even though he had orders to follow, and his arms were getting scraped up from the bushes, it was still nice to be outside on his own without any restraints. It was a shame he could practically see the invisible line around the yard that kept all of the Guster's property contained. His collar didn't know where the lines were, but he did.

It wasn't the right time yet. He couldn't run while Gus was there.

"Hey, you! What th' hell're you doing!" a guttural voice yelled out.

Shawn froze, his hands still reaching through the fence. He was by himself, and a free person was angry at him.

"You! Kid!" Mr. Fuller came into view with a hunched back and a face darkened by deep frown wrinkles. His neck craned forward and his eyes squinted in Shawn's direction as he yelled, "Get your hands offa that!"

At least the collar wouldn't make him listen to a non-owner's orders, but that wasn't the part that caught Shawn's attention. Was he just called 'Kid'?

"Don' you play dumb, you li'l shit." Mr. Fuller's hand came out from behind the folds of his knitted cardigan, brandishing a beer bottle in Shawn's direction. "I c'n see you right there. Get off my lawn!"

Shawn's jaw dropped in realization as the old man hobbled closer, his eyes barely visible through his squinting. Mr. Fuller couldn't see his collar; he didn't realize Shawn was a slave. Shawn's mouth moved before he could decide what to do. "Did you seriously just say to get off of your lawn? Exactly how cliche were you trying to be?"

Mr. Fuller stopped and stared, clearly not used to someone talking back. He recovered quickly and started moving again as he yelled, "You want to fuck'n talk about cliche? You're a punk who's got nothin' better to do than mess with an old man's property!"

Shawn made the shears snip as loudly as possible; hopefully Mr. Fuller wasn't too deaf to hear it. "'Punk'? Really? Sorry, man, you aren't nearly cool enough to channel Dirty Harry."

"Why, you…" The bottle flew through the air, and Shawn flinched as it shattered on the fence right next to him. For being old, Mr. Fuller still had a good arm. "Get 'way from my bushes, or I'll call the fuck'n cops on you! I'll…" He trailed off as he stopped moving, his eyes locking on Shawn's throat.

Shit.

It hadn't seemed possible, but Mr. Fuller's face darkened even further in rage, his red flush turning almost purple in its intensity. "How dare you fuckin' speak to me! I'll have you whipped for that!"

"For what? I'm just doing as I'm told." He needed to stop talking; making a free person angry was never the right thing to do. But his small voice was singing in glee at being let loose, and he knew his master wouldn't whip him.

"For what?" Mr. Fuller mimicked him, grinning cruelly. "For runnin' away, of course. You're on my property, slave. All alone, and no leash…"

Ice ran through Shawn's veins, drowning out his previous triumph. What if Mr. Guster was wrong, and the fence really was on Mr. Fuller's property? It was a technicality, but for a repeat-offender like him, the cops wouldn't think twice before taking him away.

"Mr. Fuller! Hello, how are you?" Gus came out of nowhere, like a black knight in shining, purple armor. "I am so glad you're here. I have been meaning to ask you about a ball you stole from me."

"How am I?! Your damn slave is destroyin' my property, and you want to know how I am?"

"You can keep working," Gus told Shawn mildly before turning back to the old man. "Yes, so the ball was red, and perfectly inflated, and brand new, and it's probably vintage by now… I don't suppose you remember what happened to it?"

Mr. Fuller stared at Gus uncomprehendingly as Shawn cut the last branch of the bush he was working on. He was doing what he was told, Gus was here, it was going to be ok.

"Why would I r'member what happened to a goddamn ball?" the old man finally spluttered out. "I probably popped it. Serves you right-"

"You popped it?!" Gus clutched his chest dramatically. "You… ball murderer! It was brand new, it never had a chance!"

Mr. Fuller's confusion cleared and was replaced by his resting-angry-face. "I will not be mocked in my own yard! Learn to respect your betters, boy!"

Shawn's eyes snapped up, but Gus answered before he could say anything. "I only respect people who don't kill poor, defenseless toys. I can't do this right now; I need time to mourn. Shawn, follow me."

Gus walked away in a clear dismissal of the old man, and Shawn gathered their tools and quickly followed. He breathed a small sigh of relief when they were two feet from the fence and solidly back in the Guster's yard.

"Sorry, I would have cut in sooner, but you seemed to be holding your own," Gus said in a casual tone.

Shawn forced his face to stay blank; he'd known what the cost would be if he was caught mouthing off. At least Gus would be fair about the punishment.

"You did good."

Shawn's brain got caught in traffic trying to do a 180 turn, and he only registered the fist moving in his direction right before it hit him. He flinched, waiting for the pain, but it never hit. His thoughts were buried in conflicting emotions as he looked up and tried to understand what was going on.

Gus looked back with a guilty expression, his fist still hanging in the air between them. "It's a fist-bump… Sorry, I didn't really think that through."

Shawn's eyes slid down to the still-outstretched fist as it took on a new meaning. He was being rewarded for being mouthy. To someone else, and not just Gus. He was being rewarded for being him.

Gus started to move his hand away, and Shawn made a snap decision, raising up a fist and gently bumping their knuckles together. He kept a close eye on his master, and was rewarded again with a large grin.

He couldn't help but grin back.

(A little over five years ago)

The trainer led Shawn into a room he hadn't been in before. It felt like he'd stepped into a different world as bare walls and hard floors were replaced by wood paneling and carpet. His leash was unclipped, and the trainer joined the other people at an honest-to-god antique dining room table that was set up in the middle of the room.

"It's been given the basic training, but nothing specific yet," the trainer told the man with the shiny shoes.

"So it's a blank slate; I can work with that. Slave, there's food on the counter behind you. Serve us."

Shawn looked behind him and saw the mentioned food was already plated and ready to go. He needed to play along if he was going to find an opportunity to ruin the test. He stacked the plates on his arm like he'd seen other slaves do, but he was only able to manage three. Hopefully it would be good enough.

He fought to not stare at the food as he brought the plates to the table. It smelled so much better than the lumpy gruel and dry biscuits he'd been fed for weeks.

The serving order was child's play to figure out, and Shawn placed the first plate down in front of Shiny Shoes. He left his trainer for last; it was probably the wrong move, but he could justify it if he was called out. He kept his eyes down like he'd been taught and played the good slave as he brought the last two plates to the table, setting them in front of his trainer and an empty chair.

The people at the table watched him silently, giving him absolutely nothing to work with. He gritted his teeth and continued with the slave act by kneeling in the corner. He needed a fast way to let them all know he wasn't broken. Preferably something that they couldn't just shock away.

"A bit clumsy, but there's potential there," Shiny Shoes commented thoughtfully. "Slave, come over here and sit."

Shawn stood back up, seeing enough of Shiny Shoes in his peripheral vision to see that he was pointing at the empty chair.

Was he going to be allowed to eat after all? Maybe proving he was a person could wait for another time…

He sat in the chair and clasped his hands in his lap to keep from grabbing the food. He knew the trainer liked to make him wait before he could eat. Which would he pick first, the fruit or the bread?

"Good, it follows orders and knows its place. Do you have any offers yet?"

"We haven't decided how to market it. We were waiting to see how its temperament adjusted before doing anything."

He'd go with the fruit first for the combination of sweet and juicy. It was too bad there wasn't any water on the table; he could really use a drink.

"You said there were issues, but it seems well behaved now."

"It tried to run in its first week and it was… less than ideal at following orders originally. We even had to adjust the shock intensity to keep it quiet."

They weren't making him be quiet; he was choosing to be quiet. There was a difference. The people at the table snacked on their food as the business continued. Technically he hadn't been ordered not to eat… His fingers twitched in his lap, and he forced himself to study the shiny silverware next to the plate instead of the food.

"The fact that it's adjusted so well, so quickly, is another good sign," Shiny Shoes commented. "I think it could be a good fit for high-end housekeeping training. Even if it's a male."

The trainer finished the last piece of fruit on his plate as he nodded in agreement. "We'll get that started right away. Do you have a place in mind?"

"I can make some inquiries."

"It usually takes a few months to finish that training." The trainer reached over and took the grapes from Shawn's plate. "There's plenty of time to find a buyer."

Shawn watched helplessly as the trainer ate the food -his food- in front of him. Screw being good, it was time to make them pay. He eyed up the silverware again as a plan began to form. The knife had a serrated edge but a rounded end, it wouldn't be good for a fast attack. The fork would have to do.

"I'll get started on that right away. Good day, gentlemen."

"Good day, sir," the trainer said respectfully as he reached out for another piece of fruit.

Shawn moved as fast as he could, grabbing the fork and driving it through the man's hand. He'd been hoping for more blood, like the beginning of Carrie, but the screams were a nice touch. He twisted the fork, watching in grim fascination as the wound grew bigger and started bleeding. He didn't mind that he'd never forget the sight.

A split second later, he realized the opportunity in front of him and reached out to grab an apple slice. His arms and collar were grabbed before he could bring it to his mouth, strangling him as they pulled him to the floor. Voices yelled over him, heavy weights crushed the air from his lungs, and the collar was still tight around his throat…

And Shawn couldn't stop his grin, even as the edges of his vision grayed out. He'd shown them. He was still a person.