He stepped into a dark room, just a few stars twinkling in the velvet black walls. A sign said "Welcome" in several languages. Smiling in the eerie glow, the receptionist laid out several glowing shapes with different words in front of them. Ali picked up the round yellow one; his fingers looked translucent red against it. The woman looked at him expectantly, a little suspiciously, then the token beeped, and a smile broke across her face. She gestured toward the right and Jason stepped through a waterfall of gold tinsel to a dark stairway.
As he followed Ali downward, the pulsing beat grew louder. The light shone brighter, flickering against the dark, twinkling walls.
"Isn't this fantastic?" said Ali. "The atmosphere here is insane. Don't be surprised if they offer you some drugs. Take them if you want—but let me check them first, so you don't get overdosed."
"I don't think I'll be trying drugs."
They stepped into a pulsing glow of blue, pink, and green. The floor throbbed like a heart was buried beneath it. People danced, talked in groups, sat at the bar. It looked like a normal club. Except everyone wore masks.
A man stopped them at a kiosk in the entryway and scanned them with some sort of flat black device. It bleeped softly and he nodded; Jason figured it was a metal detector. Good thing he'd left his weapons in his car with Connie. The man held out his hand for their pass; Ali dropped it into his palm. Then he held out a basket full of masks.
Ali picked through the masks, lifting a few up. "How about this one?" he said, lifting a black and red checkered mask.
Jason shook his head. He wanted to choose himself. He slid his hand into the leather, metal, and silk, which felt uncomfortably sensuous, as if made of parts of human beings. He shrugged off the creepy feeling and drew out a purple and orange mask that looked like a sunset.
Ali grinned. "Oh, that's gorgeous. I knew you'd pick out something extraordinary." He dug into the basket and slid out a black mask by its long, silken red string. "Would you mind?"
"Um, sure." Jason handed his own mask to Ali and slid the mask over his eyes, tying it quickly.
Ali turned to face him. "Do I look like Zorro?"
"Maybe."
Ali smirked. He lifted Jason's mask. "Okay, your turn." He twirled his fingers.
Jason turned around and Ali slid the mask over his face, brushing his cheek with his thumb, then tying the threads slowly. Jason moved away from him as quickly as possible, not wanting him to get any more ideas.
Jason would have to be careful here. Gather any clues... without looking like he was repulsed by what was happening…and actually looking like he was having a good time…
"So... would you like a drink?" asked Ali.
Jason nodded, glad to be doing something relatively innocuous in this den of evil. You sometimes have to go into darkness to bring the light into it....
They headed over to the bar, and before they could order, the bartender set a basket in front of them. Glowing iridescent tokens were piled in it. Jason took one and so did Ali.
"You can take more than one," said the bartender. "If you want to bid for more."
"We should be good," said Ali. "It's our first time."
The bartender smirked. "Enjoy. It's a good thing...certain events didn't rain us out. So, what'll it be? We've got some unique stuff here." He gestured to the glowing menu.
"What are 'magic drinks'?" said Jason.
"Ooh, our specialty. Stirs delight into the atmosphere, heats it to a fever pitch." He leaned in closer, his elbow on the bar. "Some of it'll warp your mind... shoot you into another galaxy or another dimension."
"I think I'll just try a... skyrocket."
"That's a good one. Of the regulars, anyway." He turned to snatch a glistening green bottle and a sparkling white one.
"I'll have a black hole," said Ali. He turned to Jason. "I've had those before. On a... normal day here. They're spectacular. We could try each other's if you want."
Jason nodded distractedly, flipping the small token in his hand. "What exactly do we do with these?"
"I suppose we'll find out."
The bartender slid them their drinks. "What happened to you, by the way?" He looked at Jason's injured thumb.
"It was-" Jason hadn't thought of a cover story. Phantom pain slashed across his hand, slicing through the painkiller.
Ali chuckled, leaned in conspiratorially. "It's a little embarrassing.."
"Hey, no judgement here," said the bartender. "That should be our motto...except that sounds kind of lame. Our actual motto is—shoot to the stars. Whatever that means." He turned to another customer.
"Shall we go to a table?" said Ali.
Jason nodded. He needed to absorb the atmosphere, gather any intel. In a way, he thought they should just start the raid, but that backfired sometimes if you went in without assessing the situation. And they could find out something that might disappear once it was disrupted.
He followed Ali to a dark blue table, which glittered as if tiny stars were embedded in it. Not far away, people swayed and spun on the dance floor, a complex flicker of light beaming up from the floor while a glowing orb spun in the center of the ceiling. Glitter swirled in the air. There was also a faint fragrance of vanilla, which mixed with the smell of sweat and alcohol and something else he couldn't quite define.
Here, unlike the other auction, there was no stage. Just a waterfall of glitter on the other end on the left side, which Jason suspected concealed a door.
He sipped his drink, which bit his tongue with sparkles. It was smooth and tasted vaguely of blueberries. People danced, oblivious to anything else; some looked vague and dreamlike, probably under the influence of drugs. Some had glowing tattoos. Some were sheened with a soft shimmer. Closest to him, a young couple kissed passionately as they swayed.
"Wanna switch?" said Ali. "This is heavenly. Pun intended."
"What?"
"I didn't say it was a good pun. You know, this drink has real truffles in it?"
"Truffles?"
"You know, the kind pigs dig up. Since money was no object..."
He held out his hand across the table and Jason, not wanting to seem contrary when he didn't have to be, for their cover's sake, slid his drink over while taking Ali's, cool against his hand but not as cold as it would have been if not warmed by his skin. He turned it to the opposite side of where he thought Ali had drunk from and sipped.
It hit him with a heady punch—it wasn't gentle like his own drink. Fitting for something called a black hole. But in its own way it was delicious, and after the alcohol burned its way down his throat, he tasted a savory flavor which he guessed came from truffles.
The young couple twirled around rather unsteadily and wobbled to a seat across from Jason and Ali. They glanced at them but then continued kissing.
"Do you want your drink back?" Jason asked.
"No—keep it."
"I don't think I'm drinking much more."
Ali slid his chair closer. "But you at least have to look like you're enjoying yourself," he said softly, "even if you don't want to be too compromised."
"I might buy one. Just in case. Like last time."
"Probably a good idea."
"I think it's starting," said the young woman across from him, looking dreamily toward the left of the dance floor. The waterfall of tinsel shimmered and stirred.
"You've been here before?" said Ali.
"Oh, yes," she said. "We wouldn't miss it. Would we, Riv?" She looked at her partner.
He nodded, gazing longingly into her eyes.
She squeezed his hand, slid her other hand into his hair. "I think he took a bit more than I did... Mmm. This place... is stimulating. Especially this event." Eagerness filled her eyes as she turned toward the far side of the room.
Several children were filtering out among the dancers, treading as softly as ghosts. They were done up in elaborate clothes, and as they drew closer Jason could see their faces draped in makeup which complemented their outfits. The makeup only enhanced their sad, fearful eyes and the clothes clung to their slight forms, as if trying to make them look like adults while still showing they were children.
This will be worse than last time, he thought. Somehow... not blow my cover... not shout out and alarm their traffickers...
Some children lingered among the dancers, while others meandered among the tables. One little girl, about ten, walked up to their table and looked at each of them mournfully, green makeup glittering on her eyelids and swirling down her cheek. She tucked her long black hair back and turned around, her long, silken green dress swaying. The dress dipped in the back, showing a dragon tattoo and a brand on her shoulder blade.
A chill flooded through him. He fought to keep his expression neutral. He couldn't manage any sort of enthusiasm, only cover his outrage and sorrow. At least he had a mask... though eyes could tell a lot. But the couple on the other side didn't seem especially lucid...
The woman clapped her hands. "Isn't she just—" She swirled her hand in Riv's short blond hair. "Can we buy her?"
"Well... I kind of wanted someone older..." he said.
She looked at Ali and Jason. "What are your tastes?"
"Oh, we like all kinds, don't we, Dare?"
"I'd like to take them all," said Jason.
"The full spectrum," said Ali.
"You're lucky," said the woman. "Oh, the fights we have. But in the end... I get what I want." She laughed. "The fights do keep things spicy." She kissed Riv. "But nothing—nothing is like having your own kid. First time buying?"
Ali nodded.
She focused on the next child who took the place of the little girl. He was a tall thin boy who looked about fourteen. He wore a sleek blue shirt and jeans and had blond, shaggy hair, and large blue eyes.
"Now this is more my speed, Kyr," said Riv, seeming to waken a little.
"I think... I agree with you for once. He reminds me of you. I always wanted two of you." She kissed his forehead, his cheek. "Okay, you convinced me." She stood. Glanced at Jason and Ali. "Watch and learn." She stepped over to the boy, who stepped backwards infinitesimally. Kyr grabbed his shoulder, looking down at him with amusement and delight. Then she pressed her token to his right shoulder, and it stuck there. The boy turned and slowly made his way back through the crowd, his shoulders slumped.
Kyr rubbed her hands. "That's all there is to it." She sat back down and became totally absorbed in her partner again.
A horrible feeling crept over him, clung to him—deeper than any sickness. A darkness weighing down his soul. Evil breathed through this place. He gasped, his stomach twisting. He leaned his head in his hand, forgetting about his injured thumb. The painkiller couldn't dull the piercing jab that struck through his hand. But the pain was welcome—it was external, not oppression of his soul.
"Are you okay?" said Ali.
"No, I'm not," he snapped.
"Do you...want to leave?" Unspoken was a challenge: do you want to compromise us?
"I've got just the thing," said a voice. A woman with long blond hair intruded, leaning over the table, and offering a small vial.
"Is that—what I think it is?"
The woman nodded, flashing a feminine mirror image of Ali's gratingly brilliant smile. She tossed it to Ali. He took it, flipped it over; the liquid inside shimmered gold.
The woman slid into the chair. "It's just a small dose—best for first-timers. That's what I assume he is."
"That's true," said Ali.
"I have an intuition about such things. I'm Samar." She fingered her sapphire necklace. She wore a short iridescent dress, had a purple tattoo twining down her neck and dancing blue eyes.
Ali slid the vial over to Jason. "Take it pure—or put it in your drink for a more diluted experience."
Jason took the vial, turned it over. "What is it?"
"It's scintillatingly new—just emerging on the street a few months ago. Everyone wants it—not everyone can get it. It's called zyx."
His heart flipped over. "What?"
"Z-Y-X. The last word in drugs."
"The liquid is a new incarnation," said Samar. "Makes it more potent. That way it'll act faster. He drinks the whole thing—he won't be feeling any distress for hours."
"I'm not taking all of it," said Jason.
"Probably smart for a newbie. Once you build up a tolerance, though…you hardly have to worry about overdosing."
"Really?" said Ali. "That's not what I heard."
She shrugged. "Well, anyway. This isn't enough to OD anyone. If he doesn't want to take all of it, though, maybe you could share."
"Ooh, I'd love that."
"You want all of it?" said Jason. He wasn't particularly enthusiastic about trying a dangerous new drug…although it would be a sort of research…. Just a small amount, perhaps.
Ali shook his head. "You're the one that needs it."
Jason looked at Samar. "What does it do? Can it really help me feel better?"
"It'll make all your cares drift away. At a small dose, it really can help settle your stomach, kill your pain. It's a true wonder drug."
"So, you're just…giving this to me?"
She winked at Ali. "He's a smart one." She looked at Jason. Tilted her head, slinging a generous strand of hair behind her back. "Let's just say… I like you. I saw you across the room, thought you could use a little pick-me-up." She sat down in the chair closest to Jason. "I'm really eager to see the change in you when it works its magic."
Jason didn't like to be pressured into anything. But his persona probably would try some… although he doubted any drug would really suppress spiritual oppression. Mask it temporarily, perhaps. He supposed he should put a bit more investment into his persona. He at least had to get back in the game after being sent off-balance by the horror of children being sold. To help them, he'd have to distance himself a little. Pretend to be here to buy a child. Perhaps focusing on the drug (or the pain) was a welcome distraction. Otherwise, there would have been no escape from it.
Just a small amount would probably not compromise him too much. It would give him a good way to start over—his persona hadn't been feeling well, hadn't been himself, and the drug would help him bridge the gap between his non-persona and whoever this Dare was. It would give him the opportunity to appear a bit more enthusiastic (though he was not going overboard). Whatever it took to complete his mission—gather intel, save the enslaved kids.
Shoving down his misgivings, Jason poured a small fraction of the vial into his drink. It swirled like a comet through night.
"You'll need a little more than that to get some benefits," said Samar.
Reluctantly, Jason poured in about a fourth of the vial. Then he handed the vial to Ali, who avidly poured the rest into his skyrocket drink.
They both looked at Jason expectantly, and, sliding his persona more firmly on like a mask, he tipped his glass up and sipped.
A faint bitter taste spread over his tongue. A chalky feeling coated his throat. Then a sickly-sweet aftertaste. He set it down, absorbing the experience.
"Ooh, it really is exciting to add some forbidden fun. Shoots everything to a whole new level." Samar leaned her arms on the table. "I've been to these auctions several times. Each time I get a new one for my collection. I can't help myself. They're so…intoxicating. We do have some heart stopping parties at my house. You should come sometime."
"We'd love to," said Ali.
"There's something for everyone. And it's always fun to get new blood." She eyed Jason.
He tipped the glass to his lips again. Drank the bitter liquid. The unpleasant chalky feeling—then the sickly sweetness, like the insides of those extremely sour candies. His vision swam a little; the world tilted. Mist suffused the room, creating a soft, warm glow. Warming tingles flickered through him; a sense of well-being spread through his chest. Almost settling uncomfortably; in the back of his mind, he knew it was artificial. And a vague panic filtered through him—he didn't want to be compromised. This was probably too much. He'd already been injured today… he was already not at the top of his game. But the disturbing feeling was dulled; it didn't matter as much. What mattered was here and now, which grew and burgeoned, everything sharpening to a fine point, like a photo manipulated until sharpness was at maximum. Colors glowed, throbbed. A happy bubble shoved away his discomfort, leaving an inexorable comfort in its place, like nestling in warm cotton.
"Nice, isn't it?" said Ali. "I envy the experience of your first taste."
"Yes, very nice," he heard himself saying. Too far, said a voice. There was no way to know how much….it was an experiment, now you're compromised.
Just relax and have fun, said another voice.
I can't exactly do that. I'll have to push through this too. But I can also use this for an advantage. Like I told myself. Panic won't do me any good. This isn't too bad…just a light buzz. It's just because it's new that I'm fighting it—because I'm in a risky situation. And its effects are slightly unfamiliar. But I just have to ride the wave…let it give me the advantages I sought in the first place…
Thankfully, the voice of reason won out, and he settled back in his chair, letting relaxation wash over him. Another advantage—he did need a sort of reprieve after the day's events. The warm glow flickered to his fingertips. Artificial thrills danced over his skin. He tempered both his panic and delight while letting some of it take over, show beyond his mask.
Samar clapped her hands. "You feel it now, don't you!"
He nodded. The world seemed slowed to one-half speed.
"You're right," she said, looking at Ali. "He does look gorgeous. You wouldn't mind if I take a taste?"
"Only if he minds," said Ali.
She slid her hand over to his left arm, which lay on the table next to the empty glass. She rubbed his arm softly. "Hey… now that you're more comfortable. Want to have fun?"
Revulsion slashed through him, ripping through the dullness. "I'm taken."
She pouted. "Exclusiveness… it's so…limiting. Don't you want to experiment with another flavor?"
He shook his head. "I belong to one, and one only."
She smiled, her fingers still rubbing his wrist, and looked at Ali. "You've got a loyal one here. Somehow—he's even more appealing to me than slaves. You wouldn't sell him to me, would you?"
"He's not for sale."
"You two are both sticks in the mud. Oh well. I probably would lose interest if I had him. Although… if he was still defiant…" She licked her lips.
"I would never give in," said Jason. Speaking not to just her, but anyone who wished to possess him.
"I bet you would…eventually." She caressed his hand. "What fun it would be getting there!"
Jason drew his hand away, her caress still burning a path over his skin. She caught his hand, squeezed it. He gasped as pain writhed through his thumb.
"Oh, did I hurt you? I didn't mean to." She turned his hand over. He tried to resist, but his muscles wouldn't obey. Not more weakness! Just what I wanted to avoid. At least there's no imminent danger… just this handsy woman.
"What's this?" she said, gliding her thumb over the bandage.
"A kitchen accident," said Ali.
"I was cutting something; knife almost chopped my thumb off."
"Oh, you poor thing!" She caressed his hand, pressing into the cut.
He tugged his hand away, succeeding this time, dull anger burning through him.
"You've got a good one there," said Samar reluctantly.
"He's all I need," said Ali. "All I could ever hope for."
"Drugs won't even sway him. Ah, well. I've got plenty to choose from."
"We may not even buy any. Only if we see one that really piques our interest."
She tilted her head. "It'll have to fit with you. Blend with your chemistry, your dynamic. I'll keep an eye out. If I see any that works with you, I'll let you know." She stood and meandered through the crowd.
Jason breathed sigh of relief.
Ali leaned forward, one arm on the table. "You okay?"
Jason nodded. "That was…"
"Unpleasant, I know. I'm sorry." Behind his mask, he did look genuinely sorry. Jason wondered if the drugs were playing tricks on him. How could a trafficker have any redeeming qualities.
Well, even if they did, they would never be enough to redeem them….
"Are you ready for the piece de resistance?" said a disembodied voice.
Cheers resounded through the room.
"The most exclusive, the most exotic, the most beautiful and unique morsels of delight!"
People backed up from the center of the floor as if on instinct, and a large disc corkscrewed upwards. Stairs led to the platform at the top. It rose to just about eye-level and stopped.
The music thrummed faster. Jason turned his chair to face the platform.
A young girl swept up the staircase from the darkness below. She wore a long white gown that almost tripped her. She was probably about eight years old, but she was made up to look like a teenager. Her blond hair was piled on top of her head like a bride's.
His stomach knotted. He longed to carry her out into safety.
"You can't see it clearly unless you're close up," said the invisible announcer, "but she has heterochromia! She has both a blue eye and a brown eye. They're one in a million, so if you want her, here's your chance!"
Jason tuned the announcer out. The girl looked rather slow and dreamlike… probably drugged, he thought, with another flare of outrage.
A small child, who should be playing imaginary games… enjoying her summer… not trapped in darkness.
I have to save her. Even if it takes the rest of my savings. That means nothing.
A guard collected bids for her, and Jason added his token. Then they announced the winner.
His heart fell when his number wasn't called; instead, a rough-looking man climbed the staircase and grabbed her arm, practically dragging her down to floor level.
Jason lurched forward without realizing it, but Ali grasped his shoulder.
"I can't let this happen," he whispered.
Ali slid his chair up beside him. "We'll rescue them. Just be patient."
"That's not one of my strong points."
Ali smirked. "I know. But it won't help anyone if you go up there. We're the advance guard. Spying out the land. Our role isn't to play the hero. Probably best—with your condition."
"I shouldn't have taken the zyx."
"I mean your injuries. And your ordeal. There's just so much a man can take in a day. Zyx does give you a break, some relief…"
"I'd hardly call this relief." He glanced at the platform, where another girl was standing.
"Well, rest, then. What you went through— you need some time to recover. Not go all out."
"I shouldn't need it… what happened was hardly anything. But now I have no choice but to rest…"
"Relatively speaking. We're still both on the lookout for any clues about who these people are."
"Samar's one of them."
"Maybe."
"She's at least a violator of the worst kind."
"To that I agree. I didn't like her possessiveness…."
"That's exactly what you do."
"But ultimately, I honor your wishes. I doubt she would."
Jason nodded and turned his attention to the stage. The little girl turning around for the benefit of the audience was about twelve. She had long black hair and wore a magenta dress. She looked South Asian or perhaps Romani/Turkish.
"Look at this beauty!" said the announcer. "The perfect ornament to any home. She's well-versed in being a living statue, so if this is your desire, she's the one for you. Go on, Miri, show them your moves."
The girl stood in different poses, some of them looking almost impossibly uncomfortable, each without moving for a minute or two. The crowd gasped with delight.
Jason bid for her, and for the next few children, but he was always outbid. He didn't have near enough money for this auction. Perhaps if he asked his father…. It would have to be after the fact, but he doubted his father would begrudge any amount for this. In any case, he'd probably not have to pay if the agents came through.
I'll just bid as high as possible, and if I can't pay criminals—oh well. Why didn't I think of that before.
Right. My mind is compromised.
The next child was a young girl of about seven with dark, frightened eyes. This time, a black-clad guard accompanied her. He had some sort of device. He gestured for the girl to lie down, and she lay face down on the platform.
Jason's mind flashed back to earlier that day—lying on the ground while Karl cut into him—
No—that's nothing compared to what these kids are experiencing. I can't fade out even more. I have to do something. Distract them. Grab that man and throw him off—beat him up—maybe the crowd would be just as entertained by that—
He slid forward, ready to act. Something nagged at him—he'd resolved not to act rashly again. But—this was different.
"This one's new," said the announcer. "So you've got a treat—see the brand applied that will belong to you and you alone."
The guard knelt by the girl's shoulder and lifted the device from its case. It glowed red-hot.
Shivers traced Jason's spine.
The brand lowered toward her bared shoulder.
Red-hot pain seared his side
She screamed
He leaped to his feet—or tried to.
But Ali held him down—with surprisingly little force. He pressed his palm to Jason's face, turned him to him. "Don't. You're in no shape to do anything."
His head spun. Horror raced over his skin.
The screams echoed in his skull
"Hey—focus on me," said Ali. He pulled Jason close, caressing his cheek. Lovingly tracing his arm, mockingly similar to how Connie had done it.
His heart rebelled against this
But it was infinitely better than watching the torture of an innocent little girl and being able to do nothing.
Perversely, gratefulness poured from his heart toward Ali, at the same time revulsion trickled over his skin as Ali continued to caress it. To his relief, though, it was more like a mother comforting her child than anything, soothing him with a gentle touch.
A tear trickled, cold, down his cheek. Splashed onto Ali's arm.
In the back of his mind, he could tell the screams and whimpers had stopped. The girl had been taken away.
Ali slid back, his eyes brimming with sympathy.
Jason's heart shuddered at this. To be grateful to Ali for anything… to acknowledge his sympathy… somehow seemed a betrayal of his mission. But at the same time… this was a way of not betraying his mission, because going to the girl's rescue would have probably led to his capture.
"Thank you," he said.
"Don't mention it."
Next, a boy of about fifteen was led to the stage. He struggled; he had more strength than the younger kids. Jason vaguely recalled that fifteen was the oldest for this auction. Sixteen was the cutoff for the "young adult" auction.
He had curly red hair and a slim physique. He wore only whitewashed jeans. His skin was freckled; when he turned around, it showed he had a patch of freckles in the rough shape of Muldavia.
"One of a kind here!" said the announcer. "Show off your patriotism by taking home this gorgeous boy, just on the cusp of adulthood. He's a bit tougher than your average kid, so he'll be more durable for rougher treatment. Let's demonstrate."
A device lowered from the ceiling to dangle just in the center of the platform. The boy struggled, tried to get away; another guard joined the first one and pressed him to the floor, then shackled his wrists to the device.
It cranked upwards again until the boy hung there, thrashing helplessly.
Jason stood, burning. He couldn't let this happen.
One of the guards dragged something snakelike from his belt.
Why did it always have to be a whip.
Ice jabbed through his heart. Riveting him to the ground. Freezing his limbs.
The guard stepped back to the edge of the platform and the dark snake flashed toward the boy's naked back
Blood.
Strangled scream
The floor rushed up toward him.
Warm arms cradled him. He stirred, reaching for Connie.
Fingers lingered in his hair. Slid down his cheek. He leaned into the touch.
Then he realized there was something wrong with it. It didn't belong to her.
He shot upward, only managing to hit his head on the table. Pain struck through his skull.
"Easy," said Ali. "Good thing you had me here to catch you."
Other faces looked down at him, mildly concerned. Ali looked up at them. "He hasn't eaten all day. Plus…all the excitement…." He chuckled lightly. They nodded and turned away.
Ali helped him sit up. He leaned against the chair legs, grateful he couldn't see beyond the people's bodies. It vaguely pulsed against his mind that he should be shocked and horrified, but he only felt a sick feeling, and a disturbance in his soul. He didn't want to face it head on—didn't have the strength.
"How long have I been out?" he asked.
"Just a couple minutes," said Ali.
Then it slammed back into his mind—the boy hanging there as the whip cut into him—
So like what had happened to him, only worse, because it was a child.
It's the shock and fear that gets to me. I can't ever rise to meet it—overcome it… I suppose I am weakened by the drugs, by what happened today, by exhaustion. But I'm an agent. I should be up to mildly strenuous tasks.
Instead, I'm on the floor… relying on my enemy for comfort…
How can I possibly help these kids if I can't face their torture? It means I have empathy—more than before. But it doesn't do them any good if I faint instead of acting.
I'm far from the agent I was. Which never was as great as I thought. Now… this has cut me down—
No. Perhaps I'm a bit too much overwhelmed here. But later I'll be able to do something—
I have to grow calluses. Push through it no matter what. Have empathy—while not letting the trauma take over. Have limits, a mental block… something to protect me from it… I need to feel empathy for the kids, not flash back to the exact moments it happened to me, freezing me solid.
Ali offered his help, but he slid back into the chair on his own. His head spun; he grasped the sides of the seat.
The music crashed faster; dread built in Jason's chest. A drum rolled, and three young girls filed onstage. They were about ten and had long auburn hair, large, startlingly green eyes illuminated in the strobe lights. They wore long shapeless silver robes.
"Now for the most exciting item! Three spectacular girls. They're each a specialist in something. I'll let that be a surprise. But we'll also let you have a taste of what you'll be getting."
The guard, as if this had been a cue, tugged off the robes of each of the girls. One of them grabbed his arm, pleading with him, but he shook her off and continued, leaving them in sleek dresses, low-cut, with slits up the sides and cutouts at their stomachs, each in a subtly different design. As if they were models, not children forced to display themselves in front of an avaricious audience.
A vague plan popped into his mind. It would have to work. He wasn't letting this continue.
The guard spun the girls around, each in turn, and then the announcer said, "For a thousand minas, you can come up and have a taste of one of them. Then we'll start the bidding when you see what special girls these are."
Jason stood, pushing himself up, his hand on the table. Willing strength to flood him, as he had on the floor earlier that day. He wasn't in top form, but he could at least gather enough strength to do this. Save the girls any more humiliation.
"What are you doing?" said Ali in a harsh whisper.
Jason ignored him and strode through the crowd, pressing past sweat-soaked bodies, avid faces.
He reached the bottom of the stairs, looked up into the blinding glare of the spotlight. He shook a little, but determination poured through him.
"Let's line up at the—oh, I see we have an especially eager customer." The announcer chuckled.
"I'll buy them," said Jason, his voice not quite as loud as he'd expected.
"What was that?"
Jason cleared his throat, quivering with rage and focus. "I'll pay whatever you ask. Money is no object."
"But—you must go through the proper channels."
Jason took another step. He wasn't letting anything get in the way this time.
"There is a proper way…this is most irregular…"
Jason climbed the steps, his vision wavering in the light. But he pressed forward toward the scared silhouettes cowering in the shadow of the hulking guard.
"Let's just say I don't want anyone else having a…taste of them, and I'm willing to pay anything you ask for keeping them exclusively for me." He cringed at having to speak in trafficker's lingo.
He eyed the guard, who looked wary, stolid; then glanced at the girls. They huddled together, crouching away from him. He softened his bearing slightly, sent them a message with his eyes.
A dark splotch caught his eye. On the glowing floor were remnants of blood.
Sickness clutched his stomach; his vision swam. The guard took a step toward him.
He wrested back control, fought down the sick feeling. Squared off with the guard, making himself look more powerful than he was. When push came to shove, he probably didn't have what it took to defeat a man several inches taller, packed with muscle.
"It's true," said another voice.
Jason spun around to see Ali just below the platform. He climbed the steps, looking cheerful, and held out his chip. "We'll bid anything you desire. These are the ones we want." He grasped Jason's hand.
Jason fought the urge to pull away; he had to sell this.
"Well," said the announcer, "We agree they are spectacular. The best we've ever had, in fact. We just didn't expect something of this magnitude. But—unconventionality is our brand. So, who am I to stand in the way of happiness."
The guard relaxed a little but still followed them with his eyes. Jason kept him in his peripheral vision.
"We'll take anything you think is reasonable for such unique creatures."
Ali leaned in close, pressed the forehead of his mask to Jason's. "Hey," he whispered. "I know what's a reasonable amount. Especially in minas. I'll pay for it."
"No, you don't have to—" He didn't want to owe Ali anything. But then—the raid would happen soon anyway.
"I insist." He tapped a number on his chip- $1.4 million—and handed it to the guard, who nodded and walked down the steps.
Jason stepped closer to the girls, trying to look nonthreatening while not giving himself away in front of dozens of people. He crouched down in front of them, while Ali followed suit.
"Hey," said Jason in a soft whisper. "We're going to get you out of here. We won't hurt you."
Doubt and fear filled their eyes. He didn't blame them. But he needed to get them out before calling the cavalry. In case they got hurt or lost in the chaos.
He held out his free hand, the bandaged one. Surprise sparked in the nearest girl's eyes. She peered closer. Her mouth formed a question.
"Someone tried to…" His breath hitched. He didn't want to reveal such a thing—he wanted to get past it. And he wanted to totally ignore the fact he would have been trafficked. But these girls needed any reassurance they could get. He shuffled slightly closer, whispered, hoping no one else besides Ali could hear. "Tried to…capture me. Crush me."
"You…got away?" said the nearest girl in a soft voice.
He nodded. "And I'll get you away." He'd triumphed then, when it had counted—he'd triumph now. He only wished he could have stopped the torture of the other kids… but at least they'd be free soon.
The little girl hesitated then pressed her hand in his. It was as light as a feather. She held out her other hand toward the other girls, and they all formed a sort of human chain. Slowly, he stood, then they made their way toward the steps.
"Stop!" said the announcer. "The transaction isn't finalized. No taking off until we know you will follow through. How about this. Since our finale is rather ruined—why don't you make it up to the crowd."
"What do you mean?" said Ali.
"Since you're the ones who disrupted our evening, why don't you give us a show."
"We're leaving," said Jason, apprehension flickering through him, as he snatched for the edges of his determination.
"Ah-ah-ah, not so fast."
Five—no, six—bouncers appeared, filtering in from the edges of the crowd to shadow the base of the spotlight. They were all equally imposing.
"We're not slaves," said Jason.
"Come on, humor us, would you? Let's consider it a…corollary. Payment to the crowd since you can't pay them in cash for such an anticlimax. If you don't do this, we'll open up the auction again. I doubt we'll lose much —they are spectacular girls."
A shiver raced through him, apprehension at what they wanted. He hadn't considered this.
"Here's what we'll do," said the announcer. "I'll tell you to do something and you do it. If you don't, the deal's off. And the auction continues, like everyone expected."
He had no idea what this man had in mind. But he knew it would be unpleasant. He couldn't let the girls go back to the auction, though. He had to let this gambit pay off—he did get into it without thinking what would happen. A bit like the last time he'd been in Muldavia—charging off to save a man who was being beaten in the middle of a communist square, without thinking of the consequences.
But it would be worth it.
He needed to call in the agents. But he had to find the right time to do it…. It would be best if he could get the girls down from here. Just—participate until the transaction went through.
"I have to admit," said the announcer, "it is rather exciting to go off-script. Mix things up for a change, even if it's not our typical fare. Perhaps because you're disrupting us—we want our revenge. And…you are both very beautiful. We'll make sure the crowd gets their money's worth."
The crowd stirred and surged, eager faces bobbing, wearing grotesque grins.
"So, what shall we do with them?"
The crowd shouted various suggestions, most of which he couldn't make out, but some which sounded extreme, such as cut off a limb. How exactly that compensated for them taking away their 'entertainment' he had no idea, but he figured he shouldn't count on any sort of reasonableness from this mob.
He crouched next to the little girl holding his hand, who looked terrified, bewildered. "It's okay," he whispered. "Just a little longer. I'll protect you. We're not going to do anything to you."
"What about you?"
He squeezed her hand gently. "I'll be okay." He told the girls to sit together slightly away from them, though not too close to the edge, and stood. Drawing himself up, letting the crowd know they wouldn't strip his dignity or humanity from him.
"Let's start out with…" said the announcer, "something simple. You don't deserve to be anonymous. Take off your masks."
He was surprised how much he hated that idea. For one thing, he liked the extra layer of security. For another thing… in such a vulnerable position… they'd see what he'd been subconsciously glad to cover.
The mask had soothed that fear, smoothed it over in a comforting blanket. No one could even guess his shame when the mask was covering it.
Now—everyone would know. Somehow, they'd know.
"Let's count down. Ten…nine…"
The crowd chanted in unison. Slowly, Jason slid the mask off of his face. Ali did as well.
"Much better. One's marred a little bit. Oh, well. Gives him character." He laughed. The crowd echoed him.
Jason's face burned. He felt like fading into the floor.
There was something uniquely horrible about your flaws being pointed out in front of an audience. Even if that audience's opinion shouldn't matter in the least.
"I think we should see more of them, what do you say?"
The crowd cheered raucously.
"I for one am curious how far those scars go. Okay, boys, take off each other's shirts."
Ice stabbed jaggedly through his heart.
No.
He wouldn't show his vulnerability for all to see. These scars...they were personal. He wouldn't just—give in. Especially to people so depraved. Only Connie could give meaning and life to them. To display them—it would be death.
And yet. His heart jolted. He wasn't here for himself. He was here to rescue the girls.
The transaction couldn't take too much longer.
It was just a shirt.
This crowd didn't matter.
He could sacrifice this much to save some kids from experiencing any humiliation. Especially since he'd failed the previous kids so badly.
"Take it off! Take it off!" chanted the crowd.
A few minutes more. It should be finished. Then I'll get these kids out of here and call in the agents.
This isn't going to hurt me. Not really.
"Ten…nine…" began the countdown.
Ali stepped closer. "I'm sorry," he mouthed. He reached for Jason's shirt, the one he'd given Jason earlier, out in the bright glow of a summer evening.
Slowly snicked the top button open. Looking up apologetically afterwards. Jason felt a furrow crease his brow—it seemed genuine. And his fingers were hesitant, shaking even.
Maybe I misjudged him, thought Jason—the puzzlement a reprieve, even though he couldn't quite say it was a welcome one.
The next few buttons, leaving the shirt open. Ali slid his hands away.
"Come on, give us more of a show than that," said the announcer. "Add some flourishes—entertain us! Or we might just change our minds."
Sending Jason a look that showed his heart wasn't in it, Ali slid his hand beneath the shirt, then tugged it off his shoulder. To his surprise, he pulled the left sleeve off gently, scrolling it carefully, avoiding the bandaged areas—both the gunshot would and the cut on his shoulder blade. Then he flung the shirt, and it fluttered off the stage to disappear in grabbing hands.
The crowd gasped—and heat flooded his face. But they also gaped in wonder, which gave him a different unpleasant feeling…along with a strange gratification. They—actually liked how he looked. Despite the scars. Despite the fact he hadn't kept up with working out as well. Although… he did only belong to one—and this was a slave auction. He didn't want that kind of possessive admiration.
"My turn," said Ali.
Jason turned off his mind and slid the dark shirt off, pulling it over Ali's head and letting it flutter into the crowd the other direction. Thankfully the announcer was satisfied with that much 'showmanship'.
The crowd gaped at Ali's physique as well—it was toned, sleek and lithe, exuding athleticism. He practically strutted around the stage… This was his element. Showing off. Even to a crowd that looked at him more as an object…
"Now, that's not quite fair," said the announcer. "You still have some pieces of cloth on. Take off the rest of it."
"What," said Jason, not sure he'd heart right, hoping it didn't mean what it seemed to.
"We can't exactly get the full…effect. We have to see what we're working with. Take off his bandages."
"I won't do it," said Ali.
"Then the deal's off. Unless…."
"It'll be okay," said Jason. He could always put the bandages back on… at least the wounds had probably stopped bleeding by now….
"You sure?" said Ali.
He nodded.
The countdown started. Carefully, Ali pulled the bandage from Jason's shoulder. He hardly needed it anymore; the gunshot graze was almost healed. Just a dark path through his skin—he could see to the side in the spotlight.
Ali then stepped back behind him, and a shiver rippled through him. He fought the urge to jerk away. Turn around and defend himself.
I'm supposed to be fighting this… not letting it happen again… and again… a never-ending nightmare.
How much is too much sacrifice.
No—this is nothing. Just… don't freeze. Don't let it get to you. Wait for the opportune moment…
Ali peeled the bandage off of his shoulder blade, and this time it hurt. He forced himself to be stoic. Not let them think they were fazing him.
Burns writhed across his shoulder. He flinched, unable to catch his reaction in time.
Then, Ali came back to stand in front of him. "I'm sorry." Sorrow brimmed in his eyes as he peeled the bandage off of Jason's face.
Finally, he stepped over to the left side again and reached for the bandage over the worst gunshot wound. "I don't want to do this to you," he said softly.
"It's just a bandage. Not like you're hurting me. It's…getting better." The good thing about it was that it wasn't a scar made by torture. He'd gotten it in battle. It was something to be proud of. He'd incapacitated Karl—made it so his capture hadn't been permanent.
Fighting is always better than passivity.
He stood still while Ali peeled off the bandage.
Ali gasped. "That's…quite the injury."
Jason looked down, past the new bruise on his stomach, to the massive purple bruise on his side, spreading out to greenish yellow mottling on the edges, and in the center a dark ragged stripe, almost black. He felt a twinge of its pain. But at the same time… it was a badge of honor. It was nothing but an inconvenience otherwise—the most serious of its transgressions being it had interrupted his time with Connie.
"All in a day's work," he said.
"Now let's amp up the show," said the announcer.
Annoyance flooded him. Wasn't this enough? And—wouldn't the payment have gone through by now?
"We're done," Jason said. "No more of these—games."
"You haven't paid us in full."
"You have our money."
"You're forgetting, my dear. Some of your payment is…intangible."
It's time to call the agents. Then I'll get the girls off the stage. Fight all the guards if I have to.
He slid his hand into his pocket, pressed the backup com, which was disguised as a loose button. It pulsed in acknowledgement against his thumb and forefinger.
It was only a matter of time now. Just a few minutes. He'd have to brace himself. Protect the girls when chaos broke out.
"I've got just the thing to spice it up," said the announcer. "Time for a matching pair. Kor—get him a knife."
One of the guards strode up the steps. He had close-cropped blond hair and muscles bulged beneath his shirt. He towered over Jason as he drew a large hunting knife from his belt. It glinted in the light. The guard grinned.
"No—I can't use that on him," said Jason.
"This is for using on you. If you don't cooperate." He drew another knife from his belt, a smaller one, and flipped it over, handing it to Jason handle-first, the blade held lightly in his fingers.
Jason hesitated then took the knife. The leather handle was warm and firm in his palm. It was a small, delicate carving knife for minute tasks, and it looked bitingly sharp.
The guard advanced on Ali. He backed away, but before he could get to the edge, the guard clamped his hand down on his shoulder then wrested him to his knees. Pressed the large blade against his ribs.
"Now, give him scars to match yours," said the announcer. "Or the larger knife will be turned on him—then you."
Any minute now… the agents will storm this depraved club… tear it down.
"Start with his face."
"Haven't you had enough?" said Jason. "Give us our…merchandise, and we'll get going."
"You keep resisting, things will keep getting more and more unpleasant. Or pleasant, depending on your inclinations. It doesn't have to be a deep cut."
He looked at Ali, then knelt in front of him. "Soon," he mouthed. He lifted the knife, not intending to go through with it.
"I wouldn't mind one to match," said Ali. He grinned lopsidedly.
Jason lifted the knife to his cheek, then drew it away. He stood. "I won't do it."
"Well, then, if you won't cooperate…" Another bouncer climbed the stairs, this one bulkier. He had black hair, a tattoo, and a permanent scowl.
"You can't get away with this."
The guard stopped immediately as if turned into a statue. The other guard froze as well, but kept his hand on Ali's shoulder, not budging when he struggled.
"We know who you are, hero of Muldavia. We've run facial recognition. You agents have no right to be here."
"We have every right to be here. We're shutting this place down."
The announcer laughed. The sound echoed through the room, over the near-silent crowd. "So sure, are you, you're in a position of power." The announcer chuckled darkly. "But you're in our domain. You thought you could pull the same thing you did at the teen auction. Compartmentalized, we were insulated—and rather vulnerable. But at the same time, we knew to take precautions. And it's paid off. You'll be auctioned off for real now. After we give the crowd a little bit more of a show.
"Take him."
The dark-haired guard advanced toward him. Jason backed up—then threw the knife. It flashed toward the man's eye, slashing above his eyelid before flitting offstage. Then he spun toward the other guard and slammed a punch into his face. The guard's knife clattered to the floor as he toppled off of the platform. The crowd screamed, but Jason barely registered it. He ran toward the girls and grabbed the nearest one's hand. Fear flooded their faces.
"I've got you. It'll be okay. Let's go—now."
The girls looked at each other, then nodded. He snatched up the knife, and, the girls following him, dashed off the stage, away from the blinding spotlight, toward the shadow.
He slashed the knife at the figure nearest him. Blood flew.
The man reeled out of the picture
Leaving an opening.
A gun had somehow appeared in Ali's hand, and they fended off the remaining three guards and backed away up the stairs, Ali taking up the rear, slamming off a shot at the most audacious guard.
Out through the dark midnight of an entryway, into the light.
Darkness, really, but it was clear and clean, fresh air blowing toward him, flushing away all of the toxic air smothering his soul.
He ran down the sidewalk, hoping to meet an agent or a police car, but the streets were almost deserted. Where was everyone?
His mind tilted—partly from the strangeness of the situation, and probably partly because of the zyx still in his system.
They ran as far as the girls could go, then huddled in a close group of pine trees in a park, moonlight shedding dimly over the gently undulating land, the shadows of the other trees too benevolent to hide someone nefarious.
He knelt in the pine needles, focusing on the girls' pale, panicked faces.
"It's okay. We're safe," he said.
"You see?" said Ali, standing beside him. "What Jason says, he accomplishes."
"Safe?" said one of the girls. He wasn't sure how to tell them apart.
"You're free."
They weren't quite out of the woods yet. Why were the agents AWOL?
If something had gone wrong—what about Connie?
He'd thought she was safe with the agents, but what if they'd been ambushed?
Panic wrenched his heart. He had to force himself to focus, shove those thoughts down, in order to not alarm the girls.
"What are your names?" he asked.
"I'm Aurora," said the first girl. She slid a stray strand of moonlit hair back from her face.
"I'm Arina," said the second girl. She pressed close to her sister.
"I'm Avara," said the third girl. She shuffled slightly closer to him, her eyes wide, hesitant yet open.
"I'm Jason," he said.
"Thank you for getting us out," said Avara.
Letting the girls rest, keeping an eye on Ali and the lacy edge of the tree umbrella, Jason called Connie.
The phone rang for several agonizing seconds.
"Jason!" she cried. Relief flooding her breathless voice.
Impossible love filled his chest. For a moment he couldn't speak.
"Connie. Are you okay?"
"Y-yeah." He didn't like the hesitation in her tone.
"What's wrong?"
"Everything. Except—I found you."
"What happened."
"I found my car. I ran… somehow, I got away."
"The agents—got ambushed?"
"Sort of. Some of them split off, I don't know where they went. Then like some different people appeared… they said they were with us, but I didn't like how they acted. Things started to get weird—so I slipped away. The agents didn't care too much about me, so…. I was going crazy! Hearing what was going on… the first part…. Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. I got—three girls out." Regret filled him he hadn't gotten more. But he'd been counting on the agents…
"Thank God," she breathed.
"Where are you."
"Well—I'm driving around… trying to hide from them… trying to find you. Where are you?"
"I'm…under some trees. It's a long story. I don't know what this park is called—"
"Royale," said Ali.
"Royale Park," said Jason.
"I'll be there in a couple minutes."
"Connie—"
"Hm?"
"I love you."
A silence. "I love you too," she said in a voice thick with tears.
His heart thudded hard, threatening to break out of his chest, as he waited for her to arrive.