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The group of slavers in the middle of the room resumes whipping the chained slave. They even bring in more slaves to watch, probably to show them what happens if they disobey orders.
These slaves look like a dangerous bunch. Their muscles bulge as they watch their friend get punished and the visceral hatred in their eyes sends shivers down my spine. They’re covered in scars and bruises and carry themselves in that way that people who know how to fight do. They must be gladiators from one of the illegal fighting rings.
They aren’t tied up or chained. None of us are, except for the poor fellow getting whipped, who looks like he passed out from blood loss a while ago. Chains aren’t necessary when we all wear slave collars. All any of the masters have to do is press a single button and it will send one or even all of us writhing on the floor in agony.
With a group of dangerous slaves standing right in the middle of the room, I bet most of the masters and guards surrounding them are clutching their collar remotes, ready to knock us all out at the slightest sign of disobedience.
Aware of the threat, the gladiators kneel silently, limiting themselves to glaring and scowling. That is, until the largest of them, a mean-looking Okri male, tells something to the slaver wielding the whip. It looks like he’s trying to convince the slaverto stop whipping the already unconscious slave. It earns him a fist in the face.
“... belong to me!” the slaver yells so loudly his voice pierces through the general noise of the room. “If I decide to beat you to death, you’ll stand here and take it. Hell, you will fucking thank me for it!”
The gladiator mutters something about the slaver’s mother. The slaver’s eyes bulge, his face contorting into one of absolute fury. He drops the whip and pulls out his remote, evil satisfaction glinting in his eyes as he presses the button.
I cringe, expecting to see the slave jerk to the floor, grunting in pain but nothing happens.
Nothing. Happens.
Chapter 2
Z’Ree
The room is deathlyquiet for what feels like an eternity. Realization slowly dawns on everyone present as more and more masters smash the buttons on their remotes. Still, nothing happens. Not a single slave falls to their knees, none of us being electrocuted into submission.
That’s when I see it. Something I’ve never seen before in a master and something I want to keep seeing every day for the rest of my life.
Fear.
Fear blooms in the slavers’ eyes as they watch the gladiators slowly stand up. As they watch the other slaves grab bottles, refreshment trays and anything else that could be used as a weapon.
The lead gladiator reaches for the slaver who’s still frantically pushing the button. The Okri’s hand covers both the slaver’s hands and the remote he’s holding. The sound of crushing plastic and bone combined pierces through the silence as the slaver howls in agony, then chaos ensues.
Guns are forbidden here so the guards are only armed with stunners and shock sticks. Most don’t even have time to pull out their weapons before they’re overrun by a tsunami of furious creatures whose sole purpose in life right now is revenge.
Everyone fights. I watch a young girl shove a shard of glass into her master’s crotch, over and over. Her hands are bleeding and the slaver is long dead, but she can’t seem to stop.
And me? I…freeze, indecision preventing me from moving a muscle.
Should I fight? I’m a head shorter than most people in the room and have half their body mass. I’m a useless fighter.
Run, then?
A new group of slaves barges into the room, joining the fight. They’re covered in blood and carrying weapons. Real weapons they must have stolen from the marketplace. The collars must be disabled all across the ship. We’re never going to get a better chance to escape.
But fear of how my master would punish me for a failed escape keeps me glued in place. Because no matter the chances, our escape is doomed to fail, isn’t it? We’re on a spaceship. It’s a big spaceship, but still a spaceship, floating through the vacuum of space. It’s not like we can just rush out of the door and hide in a jungle or blend in with the crowd in some anonymous metropolis.
A hand grabs my hair, pulling me up to my feet. “We’re leaving,” Master growls, his guards surrounding him, fending off the rebelling slaves. Still holding onto my hair, he yanks me into his chest and marches toward the nearest exit.
I stumble, crying out in pain as my body weight rests entirely on my tortured scalp. Before I can get my feet back under me, a laser shot whizzes through the spot where my head had been just moments ago. It severs some of my hair, burns Master’s hand, and continues on its way to kill the guard on my right.
The guards regroup around Master who’s screaming profanities, cradling his burnt hand to his chest. For a brief second, nobody’s paying attention to me and I know I have to make a decision.
One look at Master and the decision is made. Fury rages in his eyes as he glares at me, and I know he’ll hurt me even if I play the obedient slave and stay by his side. I bolt for the door.
He’s screaming at me to come back, beyond furious at the sight of his most valuable possession escaping him. His horrifically obscene threats of what he’ll do when he catches me echo through my ears long after I’ve left the room.
Crystallized tears roll down my cheeks while muffled sobs shake my body as I finally pause to catch my breath.
I’m free. Sort of.
