I ended up in a miserable bar, more like a sealed trash dump. Filled with faces drinking to forget more than for pleasure. I was sitting in the corner, head tilted, hands clasped around a half empty glass.
Every day was just a faded copy of the one before. Then a strange man ca and sat in front of uninvited. I didn’t lift my head at first, until I heard him say in a hoarse voice:
"Do you want to see your son?"
Then I slowly raised my head toward him. Half of his face was disfigured. From his eyebrow ran a deep scar down to his jaw, his left eye was a blank white, and his right eye was entirely black with no white in it. His hair was pale gray, the color of factory fus.
I stared at him for a mont, then muttered bitterly:
"Are you joking with ?"
He smiled:
"No, I’m not one for jokes. Let prove it to you."
I didn’t hear what he said after that. I just felt the world suddenly closing in around . Then I woke up to find myself tied to a rusty tal chair, my hands bound behind my back. Directly in front of was my son, strapped to what looked like an examination table, unconscious.
I shouted:
"Let him go! Please, let him go!"
I tried to move, and that’s when I heard laughter not the laughter of a human being. It was like sothing coming from the throat of a demon.
I turned, and there he was, the man with the disfigured face, walking toward with his hands behind his back:
"Don’t worry, I’ll let him go. Only if you do what I ask of you."
"What do you want? What do you want from ?"
He ca closer until I could feel his cold breath against my cheek, making my face shiver involuntarily.
"Sothing very simple you’ll work for ."
"Work for you? Who are you?"
"Let’s just say I’m soone who needs a loyal hand to carry out certain tasks."
I said slowly:
"And what guarantee do I have that you’ll keep him alive?"
He shrugged and said:
"None. But do you have the luxury of doubt?"
***
I ended up as a supplier. And not just any supplier, but a supplier of slaves. Yes, I beca what I had despised more than anything else. I would receive children from their families. So were sold for a pittance, others were taken by force their screams have never left my ears. Years passed like this.
One day, while I was sorting so products in my small market stall, a strange man entered the square.
He ca close and whispered:
"The doctor sent to check the new shipnt."
I sighed quietly. That damned doctor now sending soone in his place? I nodded and gestured toward the storage room behind .
"Follow ."
I walked ahead of him, then opened the large iron door and we went inside. I pointed to one of the cages and said as if I were displaying cheap goods:
"All under ten. Quiet, no noise. So don’t speak. As agreed, the shipnt’s ready."
He stared at without blinking, then said:
"My n will co tomorrow to pick up the rchandise."
Then he pulled out a small black cloth pouch and tossed it toward . It hit my chest and fell into my lap. The faint tallic sound it made made sick. I should have thrown it in his face. I should have scread: "Take your filthy money, I don’t need it."
But I didn’t. I pretended to be greedy. I forced a faint smile and in a tone I tried to make sound natural I said:
"An honor to do business with you."
He smiled too, but his smile never reached his eyes. From one of the cages ca the voice of a small child:
"I want... my mom..."
I turned quickly. This couldn’t happen. If the man thought the child was resistant or troubleso, they’d torture him until his will was broken. I had to be cruel. I had to put on my other face. I went to the cage, lifted my leg, and kicked it hard until it shook and the child scread in fear.
I shouted too, in a hoarse, hate-filled voice that wasn’t truly mine:
"Shut up! You little rat! Your mother sold you with her own hands! Don’t cry for her now, she didn’t cry for you!"
I sighed inwardly I knew I was lying.
***
I left the storage room with heavy steps, walking silently through the alleys. When I reached my place and opened the door, I was t with the usual scene: three n sitting on the floor playing cards under the dim light of a small candle.
Darren, Raghu, and Sylvan. They were laughing and arguing over the cards. They were one of the few things that kept alive.
Darren, a thin young man with dark eyes, worked day and night to gather money to treat his mother’s lung disease. Raghu was a boy with big dreams, always saying: "I’ll open a little bakery in the middle district." Sylvan, the shaggy-haired one with that faraway look, always said he wanted to travel the world.
I sat down on the floor beside them without saying anything. Darren silently handed a card, Raghu smiled, and Sylvan patted my shoulder. These three had dreams, sothing I had lost long ago. I wished with all my heart they’d achieve them, even though I knew they never would.
Because when you’re born in the lower district, even the simplest dreams rot in a dark corner.
***
I went to et the doctor as he’d asked.
The place was as always blindingly white walls, the air thick with the sll of chemicals. I stood before him as he sat behind his tal desk. He said calmly while rolling sothing small between his fingers:
"Twenty years, isn’t it? Twenty years since you started working with almost a whole lifeti."
I didn’t reply, just stared at him in silence. He continued with a small, slanted smile:
"And on this fine occasion, I’ve decided to give you a gift."
I said in an empty tone:
"What’s this gift for this damned anniversary?"
He chuckled softly and said:
"I’ll let you see your son."
"Are you joking with ?"
"Do I look like the joking type?"
He leaned slightly toward the edge of the desk, his voice becoming quieter:
"You’ve worked with us loyally. Never complained, never disobeyed orders."
Then he snapped his fingers. And as soon as he did, the light vanished from my eyes.
...
I woke to a sharp pain in my head. I was tied to a tal table. In front of was that damned doctor, his smile unchanged, still giving his face a demonic cast.
He said dryly:
"Welco to my lab."
"Where am I?"
"I told you my lab."
I muttered bitterly:
"So you’re finally getting rid of ?"
"Get rid of you? I still need you."
He ca closer and whispered in my ear:
"And don’t worry, I didn’t lie to you. You’ll et your son, just as I promised."
Then he straightened up and went to a nearby table. He stopped, turned to again, and said:
"But before that, you need to prepare yourself."
He opened a drawer and pulled out a small dagger, made of shiny silver tal engraved with red symbols. He held it up in front of and said:
"This is a system piece. It holds the authority of fire yes, that strange power you’ve seen while working with us. You’ve seen its effects, haven’t you?"
Then, without warning, he stabbed in the arm with the dagger.
I scread:
"What’s happening to ?!"
I felt terrible heat spreading from the stab wound through my whole body.
"This is called authority assimilation. Your body is trying to adapt to the fire’s energy. But sadly, my dear, it doesn’t work that simply."
He waved his hand and added:
"In its initial stage, authority assimilation needs a special ritual. And you? You won’t make it."
Then he tilted his head slightly and said:
"You know what happens when you fail? You burn. Not suddenly, but slowly. But don’t worry, I won’t let you die before you see your son."
Then he raised his hand and I felt every part of my body contracting and stretching at the sa ti.
"What are you doing to ?"
He replied while turning his back to :
"Reshaping you to fit the next stage. Oh, right, before you lose your mind and beco my puppet, there are so truths I think you deserve to know."
He turned back toward , his smile widening:
"Rember the mysterious illness? The one that took your mother’s life? Then ca back in a stranger way to devour your wife? That was my work."
"And those who lent your father money? They were all my followers. You yourself borrowed from them."
"And your father’s shop? That little place that brought your family together? Nice... cozy. I turned it into another one of my labs."
I tried to break the restraints. Twisting my wrists, straining against the chains with all the strength left in my worn-out body. But my body failed . Then everything started to sink away as if I were drowning in quicksand.
And suddenly I realized I had lost control of my body. My arms and legs no longer responded.
Then the doctor ca closer, reached out, and unfastened my restraints, saying:
"Stand."
I tried to punch him, to bite him, but my body wouldn’t obey. Then, as simply as that, he patted my head as if I were a dog that had learned a new trick, and said:
"Good boy."
The tears I’d held back for forty years slid down my cheeks. I didn’t cry when my mother died, I didn’t cry when my father collapsed in front of , I didn’t cry when my child was torn from my hands, I didn’t cry when I beca a slave trader. But I cried now.
I was just a human being who wanted to live.
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