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“I mean, they’re not even built to take us,” I continue.
“I know one thing,” Vrask says. “There’s a reason sales of humans have gone up.”
He leans in to whisper, noticing the increasing focus on me.
“Just recently, I heard a demon went mad with lust out at the stocks. The woman looked like she might keel over at any moment, and he was still ready to ‘embarrass’ himself.”
I bring the mug back up to my mouth, less for an enjoyable drink and more to do something under all the scrutiny.
This insanity is beyond my comprehension. I’d like to understand what makes these demons tick because they’re all my potential customers.
But how could they lose themselves over something so frivolous? How could they humiliate themselves in the face of society’s pressures?
I empty my money onto the counter and start counting, keen to let anything take my mind off this inane and vexing question.
5
HANNA
“Ow…”
My head throbs painfully as my eyes open slowly. I try to reach to rub my head, but I’m greeted with the sound of clanking metal, and a dull ache crosses over my wrists.
All around me is darkness, so deep that I can’t perceive my surroundings – I can't see anything except the metal bars in front of my face. I shake my wrists, but they’re bound together and I can feel the metal chafing.
I’m cold. The metal affixed to my body is freezing. The strange frigid breeze in this room causes me to tremble and shiver.
How did I end up here?
A dull sense of panic resonates through me as I gradually realize the gravity of my situation.
I remember training, and the spasms of my muscles confirm that it wasn’t a dream.
My eyes still struggle to fully open. I’m half certain I’ll wake up from paralysis, realizing that this horrible existence was only a nightmare.
Zathex.
I remember sprinting for my life, running so hard that the air became knives piercing my throat.
It was far too real to be a dream.
“Is somebody here?” I ask nobody and nothing in particular, unable to hide the anxiety from my voice.
When I wouldn’t yield to his advances, Zathex knocked me out and brought me here. I briefly remember the scraping of my legs against the coarse gravel path, and the cuts along my legs confirm it. I can feel the cool air on my wounds. I can smell the metallic scent of my own blood.
Something’s moving in here.
As my eyes open further, I detect irregular movement in the shadows. Something is lingering in the darkness.
He wouldn’t kill me for rejecting him, would he?
Adrenaline pulses through my veins, and I rattle my chains still more aggressively, turning my head to look around the room. It’s the only thing I can move, my legs and arms both rooted in place by tight and unforgiving metal.
I peel my eyes, looking for any other sense of movement.
This is torture.
“If there’s anybody here, you’d better show yourself,” I say, noting that I can see hints of my own breath.
