The Rebellious Slave Ch 02 1

Author's Note:

Hello, fabulous readers! And holy crap, this chapter is long. It covers the original Chapter 4 and parts of Chapter 5, but contains about 10k words worth of new content. I wanted to make sure that our story starts off with a solid introduction to the world and characters, so be warned, there is a lot of exposition. Hopefully it's not too much, but that's for you all to decide. If you are so inclined, I'd really appreciate it if you would rate this chapter and share any comments/criticisms in the comments. Even now, I am hoping to improve my writing skills. I'll be hanging around, so feel free to ask questions as well. And thanks so much for the warm welcome I received on the last chapter. Your continued support makes all the long weekends and late nights worth it. :)

—HisPet21

***

Kara sat in the corner of her cell, her knees pressed against her chest and her hands wrapped around her legs. It was hard to be optimistic, but at least she was comfortable. The room was hardly the size of a walk-in closet and utterly bare, but it was pleasantly warm and every surface was covered in white padding, even the ceiling. If Kara hadn't been so nervous, she could have easily lain down and taken a nap before the upcoming auction, letting the humming of the air vents lull her to sleep. But there was a one-way mirror built into the far wall and it fascinated her. Its shimmering surface caught the light in interesting ways and though she wasn't sure why, Kara couldn't stop staring at it.

Tentatively, Kara stood to her feet and pressed her hands against the mirror, letting the coolness of it sink into her still-warm skin. Her reflection, as if in a trance, followed suit and then they were fingertip to fingertip, fogging up the glass with their mutual breath. For a brief moment, Kara wondered if there might be someone else just beyond the mirror, staring into eyes that could not stare back. She thought about what they might look like and why they might have chosen to stop by her cell. Then Kara glanced up and as her eyes met those of her reflection, she started.

It was as if...it was as if she were looking into the eyes of a

stranger

.

Truth be told, it had been almost two months since Kara had happened upon a mirror. In that time, there were so many little things she'd forgotten about herself. There was a small brown mole above her left cheek that she'd mistaken for a smudge of makeup, and dozens upon dozens of freckles dotting the "adorable pigeon nose" Uncle Florence had always teased her about. There was a barely noticeable scar on her neck from a flying piece of shrapnel that had narrowly missed the vein and running a single finger across it, Kara realized that she'd forgotten about that, too. Those details were hers and distinctly hers, but somehow, they seemed out of place on her freshly painted face. The woman now staring back at Kara looked more like her doppelganger than it did her, perhaps from another era or even another world.

Is this...is this me?

Kara wondered.

Is this what I look like now?

During the war, Kara hadn't had any time to contemplate her reflection. She had only ever caught glimpses of it, usually in a muddied puddle or a broken storefront window. It had been dirty and distorted then, but more jarring still, the woman staring back at her hadn't looked anything like this current manifestation. That Kara had been covered in fresh and dried blood, from the numerous procedures she'd performed on the field: removing bullets from downed soldiers, patching up gaping wounds, and aligning broken bones. Her arms had been covered in bruises from when she'd been forced to dive against concrete for cover, and her eyes...her eyes had been utterly

blank

. Once so lively and hopeful, they had been deadened by the never-ending shifts of work and the ever-present smell of death and despair. Appalled, Kara studied herself in the mirror and realized she'd forgotten she could be beautiful.

When was the last time I wore makeup?

Kara thought.

Or even brushed my hair?

Yet tonight, she looked stunning. Her captors had spent hours prepping her for auction, until she practically sparkled beneath the cheap, fluorescent lighting of the cell block. Dark, brown locks cascaded past her shoulders, framing a face that was gentle, but not naive, while her perfectly pouted lips and lightly flushed cheeks hinted ever-so-slightly at the baser tasks awaiting a slave. Glancing back into the mirror, Kara thought she looked brand new, as if she'd been made for nothing more than standing still and looking pretty. But her fabulous blue eyes—accentuated with dark liner and heavy mascara—told another story entirely. They told the story of a woman who had seen war and tried to be brave in spite of the horrors. No amount of makeup would be able to cover up the determination behind those eyes, but it seemed to have softened it well enough and Kara supposed that was kind of the point.

It's not so bad

, Kara told herself, pressing her fingers to her lips and then eyeing the dark, red splotches that now clung to them.

It...it looks nice.

But the clothes...the clothes were just

too much

. Red and gold were traditional for a newly captured slave and in those suddenly obscene colors, Kara felt more naked than she ever had before. Even her nails had been painted a deep, dark red and then stamped with gold leaf. The vibrant hues stood out with sickening clarity against her pale, white skin and made it impossible for her to hide her shame. Maybe it was unfair of her, but she did feel shame—shame at having been captured so easily and then allowing herself to be trussed up like this. They had put her in a gorgeous, unlined lace bra and then secured a small, silver ring around each of her nipples to ensure that they stood out against the cloth. There was also a matching pair of panties, as well as an ankle-length loincloth which hung from her hips on a gold-plated chain. The fabric was all maroon, but it had been trimmed in still more gold and there were tiny, clear gemstones sewn into the lingerie.

Not diamonds

, Kara thought, looking down at them in horror.

It has to be moissanite, or maybe even cubic zirconia. But not diamonds.

It seemed grossly negligent to dress someone like her in such flashy, expensive things. The material was softer than anything she'd ever touched and she kept worrying that it would snag on her nails. That seemed like a stupid thing to fret over about at a time like this, but she did anyway. She couldn't help it. In that moment, Kara felt like an overly rich dessert: the kind that comes in portions that are much too big for one person, all covered in chocolate and caramel and cream. Seeing herself like that, Kara knew precisely what the monsters who had enslaved her intended. They had dressed her up only so that she would inspire hunger in her enemies and could then be devoured inch by precious inch, until her new master grew full and then sick on her. She eyed the matching red and gold cuffs around her wrists and ankles and was reminded that as lovely as she looked, it was only so that she would appeal to those who liked to own pretty things and then ruin them.

Decadent

, Kara thought, finally finding the perfect word for how she was feeling.

Decadent, and just...nauseating.

Clutching her hands to her chest, Kara could feel her heart grow cold and shivered.

Oh god, someone's going to buy me tonight.

For possibly the hundredth time that day, Kara turned away from her reflection and pulled back her hair, just to see if it was still there. It was, of course. It always was. Conspicuously tattooed onto her left shoulder was her official registration number, a simple barcode with the digits "365785" written underneath. The ink was still fresh and the surrounding skin was red and raised, so that the bold black lines stood out even more prominently than they normally would. Tentatively, Kara touched the tender skin and winced, watching as a small bead of blood trailed down her back. Clothing and cuffs could always be taken off. Lipstick and blush could be washed away, but this...

this

was permanent. It seemed so ugly to her, tainting her in ways that she couldn't quite grasp, and the tracking implant was still worse. Kara couldn't even get a glimpse of it. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't angle her head in just the right way. But she could feel it, a little lump along her spinal column situated in the center of her lower back. The mere thought of it blinking under her skin made her shudder and she quickly pulled her hand away.

"Alright, girl. You ready?"

Kara swung around violently, unaware that her cell had been opened. There was a man leaning against the door frame, dressed in the silver, navy-blue uniform of a Martkorp handler and looking pointedly over at her. The little red logo she'd come to hate was embroidered on his chest and with a slight nod, he motioned for her to come forward. Kara hesitated. On the one hand, this was going to happen with or without her consent. On the other hand, she couldn't quite get her feet to move. Up until that moment, Kara could rest easy in the knowledge that Martkorp's employees could only be so cruel without risking their livelihood, but once purchased, that safety net would disappear. Her new owner could do whatever they wished with her and there'd be nothing she could do about it.

"Look...," the handler sighed, and he ran his fingers through his hair, then offered her a reassuring, if not entirely convincing, smile. "I know this must be hard, but I'll take good care of you. Promise. I'll cross my heart and everything." And true to his word, he did, but Kara stayed where she was, still frozen in time beside the one-way mirror. "Come on, there's no sense in dragging this ordeal out. I'll answer any questions you may have, but we have to get going. Now."

I have to move

, Kara thought, staring down at her feet and willing them to obey her.

I have to move, or they'll take me by force.

"Last chance," the handler warned, reaching for the roll of chain hitched to his belt. "I'd honestly rather not have to parade you through the halls on a lead."

It was the push Kara needed to finally overcome her fear. With a deep breath, she nodded, then let the handler guide her through the doorway. Just outside, there was a long, marble hall and either side was lined with additional holding cells, most of which were empty. The sales floor would undoubtedly be packed, but this place seemed to be for overflow or, in the case of an upcoming auction, storage. As Kara glanced around, looking in on those who couldn't look back, she found her mind wandering. Who were these people? How had they gotten here? And what terrible fate awaited them? But then the handler gripped her firmly by the upper arm and tugged her forward. She was grateful that he still hadn't cuffed her wrists together and in order to keep it that way, obediently walked along beside him. Their footsteps echoed off the marble and Kara found the sound strangely hypnotic.

"So, um...," Kara began, once they'd made it to the service elevator at the end of the hall and had started to descend. "What are these things usually like?"

"I suppose that it varies from party to party," the handler told her with a nervous little shrug. "Tonight's a big one and all of the major dignitaries will be there, so we're doing a combination silent and live auction. For the first two hours, clients can peruse the merchandise and put in bids to try and reserve a piece. If the bidding war on a piece hasn't settled by the end of the second hour, the auction goes live."

"Wait, it goes

live?

" Kara sputtered. The awful, twisting butterflies in her stomach had suddenly begun to flutter about more violently and groaning, she hugged her stomach. It was all too real. The adrenaline of the first 24 hours of capture had worn off long ago and now, the terrible situation before Kara was coming into focus. "They...they're doing

live

auctions? Tonight?"

"Of course," the handler replied, sounding confused. "It's more fun that way, isn't it?"

"But I...I don't..."

Then the elevator doors parted and in spite of herself, Kara gasped. The sheer size of the auction hall was enough to take her breath away, never mind the lavish atmosphere. An ancient, glass chandelier as big as an

armored tank

hung from the center of the room and below it were several dozen sitting tables, packed with prospective buyers chatting idly away as waiters in dark, black tuxedos offered them hors d'oeuvres and champagne on silver platters. There were at least a hundred of them, and the hall wasn't even full yet! Glancing out front, Kara could see that the line to get in extended well beyond the doorway and a steady stream of prospective buyers was filing into the auction hall, all dressed in fine evening wear and looking cheery. They formed little cliques as they waited, laughing, slapping each other on the back, and congratulating one another for some reason? Then once they reached the front desk, the prospective buyers would hand over their ID cards, sign in, and pay the entry fee in exchange for an event catalog, a bidding card, and what looked like drink tickets. There was a buffet near the back of the hall and a bar, too. But then, something far more interesting and far, far more sinister caught Kara's eye.

Immediately beside the front door were rows upon rows of chairs, all arranged before a well-lit, wood panel stage. The instant she saw it, Kara knew it was for the live auctions. There was a podium directly in front of it and a large, leather-padded "X" with wrist and ankle restraints at the center of the apron. Kara swallowed hard as her eyes drunk it all in and tried not to think too far ahead. Instead, she forced herself to focus on her current predicament. On the right and left sides of the auction hall, Kara could see a wooden platform draped in strips of red cloth and decorated with golden throw pillows, but more importantly, that's where her fellow slaves were being held. Not all of the spots along the wall had been filled yet, but a number of slaves were already kneeling there with their ankles chained to the platform and their wrists held high above their heads. Instinctively, Kara backed away, but met resistance as she ran into her handler's chest.

"It's not as bad as it looks," the handler promised, and gently grabbing her by the shoulder, he offered Kara a comforting squeeze. "Take a minute to get your bearings and we'll get you set up, okay?"

Kara silently nodded, then let the handler guide her to her assignment along the wall. It was easy enough to spot. There was a copper plaque next to it, and the words

Kara Chrystein: Military Medic

had been engraved into the metal. That was disconcerting, but even more so was the little clipboard resting precariously on the ledge. It was attached to the platform with a silver chain and when Kara glanced over at it, she saw that it was for placing bids during the silent auction. There was a line for each bidder's offer and then their corresponding signature, as well as some room for "additional notes." Kara was stunned to discover that her starting bid was 50k qualid, a full year's salary when she'd been a military medic.

"Alright, girl. Here we are," the handler told her, and he grabbed a stepping stool out from under the platform. "Once you're up there, kneel on the pillows for me and get yourself comfortable. You probably won't be moving for a few hours, so keep that in mind."

Kara cringed at that, but chains seemed to be the norm now and she'd have to learn to live with them. With a deep breath, she relinquished herself to her fate and stepped up to the stool. The handler helped her onto the platform, then gave her a few minutes to get situated. Kara used that time to strategically arrange the pillows underneath her, doing her best to minimize the strain on her knees. When she was done, the handler took her wrist cuffs and attached them to a set of chains dangling down from the wall behind her, then her ankle cuffs to a pair of screw eyes embedded in the platform. When he came back around to face her, she realized that she would now be at eye level with her prospective buyers and perfectly positioned for each and every hungry gaze that came her way.

"We should probably go over the rules," the handler began, pulling a well-worn piece of paper from his pocket and unfolding it. "Let's see...ah, yes!

Gags

. We don't normally like to gag the slaves, not unless we have to. Sometimes, the clients like to ask questions. Answer respectfully and you can go the night without an uncomfortable ball in your mouth. Make sense?"

"Yes," Kara answered, even though nothing about selling human beings made sense to her. "I guess."

"Great!" the handler exclaimed, and he want back to his piece of paper. "Let's see now...I mean, obviously, don't be an ass. Spitting, biting, swearing—none of that's allowed. A medic will come by in a little while with some medication for you, which should hold off any nausea due to nerves. Any questions?"

Why?

Kara thought.

Why are you doing this?

But she knew better than to ask that question aloud.

"No, I...I think I'm fine," Kara told him instead. "I, uh,

think

."

"Wonderful!" the handler beamed. "Now, the auction should be starting soon, probably in about...," and he shook down his sleeve so as to get a better look at his watch, "...thirty minutes or so. Try not to panic, and you'll be fine." Then the handler gave her one last sympathetic look, nodded a goodbye, and started back toward the elevators.

"No, w-wait!" Kara cried, because she had something to say still, and the handler stopped. "It's just...you were kind to me. Thank you."

"You're welcome, princess," the handler replied with a sad little smile. "Keep your chin up, alright?" Then he turned around again and was really gone.

Probably to fetch someone else for the auction

, Kara reasoned.

But right now, I need to worry about myself.

First things first, Kara wanted to test her range of motion. She wouldn't be getting up from the platform anytime soon, but the chains had enough slack in them for her to rest comfortably and even change positions to some degree, thank

god

. Unfortunately, there wasn't much else to do once Kara had finished with her little experiment. She already had a fairly good grasp of the auction hall's set-up, but after a few minutes of people-watching, she started to pick up on details she'd missed the first time around. For one thing, all the servers were wearing iron collars with "Lyndone Catering" engraved into them, along with the company logo. It was...utterly bizarre. Kara had only ever heard stories of Isleydor's slave culture, but now she was in the very midst of it. There was the general buzz of chatter, the clinking of glasses, and every so often, a laugh would break through the din. Closing her eyes, Kara let the chaos of a hundred different conversations hum inside her ears and let the sweet aroma of good food and fine wine fill her nostrils. Eventually, an orchestra set up at the front of the hall and then classical music filled the air. It was actually kind of peaceful, until...

"Cowards!"

Suddenly, a harsh male scream cut across the hall, suffused with almost inhuman fury. It was so terrible, Kara very nearly jumped out of her skin. Instantly, her eyes snapped open and she could see that a small crowd had gathered on the other side of the auction hall. Kara had hoped to get a better look at whoever was behind the commotion, but she couldn't make out anything from so far away and with so many people blocking her view. Other than, of course, more screaming.