The inside of the Jewellery store didn't look as ominous as I thought it would. The idea in my head resembled more of a dungeon with stone-brick walls and bloody floors.
At first glance, one couldn't tell what was carried out behind the back door.
What caught my gaze however was the source of light which illuminated the room.
An egg-shaped object that could light a room on command from a different place entirely?
It seemed as though it were magic. However, I couldn't stay enamoured much longer, as a chain tugged away at my neck.
Right now, it was just me and a couple other slaves, about 7 or so. Chains hung between collars, forced us to tick close together, while preventing us from running away. The one at the front was pulled further and further by rope.
The ones who resisted were drugged and carried inside. I, who didn't, was left to view our walk down the hallways and to the door of what lead to the basement of this place.
Looking down into the black void beyond which nothing else could be seen, I felt a lump form in my throat.
One of the henchmen pulled out a candle, lighting it. He lead the way, as he set ablaze other torches along the way, sat on the walls of this place.
With the vibrant red embers of these torches, came the view of a scene that I couldn't help but curse at. This is more of what I was thinking… stone bricks, cracked and mossy, lining the walls of the stairs. While I had pictured this, it's not as though I wanted that scenario to play out.
My luck was simply terrible.
The stairs squeaked, creaking with every step I took. In turn, every squeak, raised my heartbeat, by the end I couldn't even feel as though I were breathing.
Finding ourselves at the bottom of the stairs, I looked to the same general design of the hallway. At the end of the hall, could be found a large room. A guard shot up as if he were caught off-guard after doing something suspicious. Perhaps he was napping?
"Alright the lot of you, line up".
The drugged slaves hadn't come down with us. It seemed they wanted to sort us out before them.
"We will be sorting you into different areas based on your skills and looks. There are five floors. The lower the floor, the lower the quality of the product. If you want to secure yourself a new owner, you better figure out how to charm them with something other than what you offer".
He walked towards the guard's desk, pulling out a few files from its drawers.
"You, come here. Hm, so you were born into a farmer's home?"
"Yes".
"But you worked as a guard in the city when you grew up?".
"I was a dreamer as a kid, high aspirations and such".
"You have a strong build, but those burns of yours aren't doing you any favours".
"Werewolves".
A few of the other slaves shuddered, it seemed they had encountered them before.
"I see… floor 3".
"Uhh yes..", he looked displeased, but didn't revel in it much further.
"Form a group over there. Oh and I forgot to confirm your name".
"Ben sir, Ben Gordam".
'Ben Gordam', where have I heard that name before?
The man sorted through a bunch of others before he turned to me.
"Ok next is you…".
"Yes!"
"Name?".
"F-For—k…".
"Fork?".
"Yeah…".
"That's an unusual name".
"My family was… neglectful", not entirely false if we talk about my father, but I didn't want to use my real name and this was the best I could come up with.
"Hm, seems logical if that's the case".
"You aren't here in the stack, did we pick you up on the way?".
"Yes…".
"I could ask you about skills and background, but I can't just take your word for it".
…
"I'll just base you off of looks. Go through that hallway over there in the corner, get yourself cleaned up, I can't really tell if you're a second or third based on the way you look right now. Beetle, go with him".
I nodded as the man named Beetle ushered me along.
Opening a door at its end, I was greeting by a room far different from that of what I had seen
Light wooden walls, as well as a carpeted entrance. The rest of the floor was covered in Oakwood atop which stood several chairs.
Photographs of people with differently styled hair, stared at me from across the room.
I was in a salon?
"Sasha, fix this one up will you?".
"Oh, who is this?".
"Fork", I interjected, telling her my name.
"Hm? That's a strange name".
"Yeah, I get that a lot".
"Looking passed that, is there any look you're going for? If you want a good scoring, you're gonna have to find a good one, in your head".
"I'll just leave it up to you".
"Hm… alright. Since you have so much trust in me, I guess I can't disappoint".
"I'd hope so, for my sake".
She laughed.
Sat at the chair, I watched as she cut my hair, pulling it in all sorts of ways. My beard that I had so painstakingly grown out (I didn't bother shaving), had been shaved right off.
"Couldn't I have kept a little…".
"No, look at that face, what were you doing hiding such handsome features".
"Aha…ha, thanks".
I though the beard looked good, you know? I sat crying on the inside.
"And, Tah-dah".
"Wow, I look… different".
"Better, so much better".
…
"Right…".
I hadn't seen my face this alive in ages. Perhaps being a slave was a good thing— No, no I'd rather still take freedom.
Sasha appeared lively and sweet, talking to me as she cut my hair. She didn't seem the type to work at such a place.
"Let's take you back shall we?".
The henchman directed me back.
"Bye Fork".
I waved back.
I'd be lying if I said my ego hadn't been stroked a little. Even in this dastardly situation, my nose felt longer than ever.
It seemed that another guard had finished talking to the sorter. He looked at me for a second, returning to the conversation.
It seemed to be something relating to me as the sorter shot a short gaze toward me.
"Floor six".
?
Floor six?
That's further down than the fifth. Is it for people even worse than floor five?
And why did they say there were only five floors before? I didn't get it. That and the fact that they didn't mention anything about the fifth floor itself.
"You seem to be the only 'sixth' we've got right now".
I didn't know how to take this information. I wanted to rely on context clues like his tone or expressions, but he barely spoke other than when asking questions.
The guard looked surprised when he heard I was a 'sixth' but other than that, he didn't do much but continue sitting.
"You'll be directed by Beetle once again", I hope you enjoy your stay with us, Mister Fork".
"Yeah…", it was going to take a while for me to get used to that name.