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Inhumane Society - Part 1

The bag of food was obviously a trap. 

It was too perfect. Nic could smell it through the packaging, fresh and unspoiled. In the world of dumpster diving it was rare that such a meal manifest itself. The other strays on the street would long ago have looted it.

One of his ears twitched first up the street and then down. Aside from the usual late night city noise, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He inched forward on the tips of his toes, bare feet pressed against cold concrete.

Food was scarce. His late night work had been spartan recently. “Animal Services” had stepped up patrols in the area and he was a prime target. Staying out of site and out of mind was how he survived.

Another step forward. His tail was stiff and bristled with anticipation. Froze in place, waiting for the kill.

And then the pounce. Nic sprinted forward towards the open trash bin. The over-sized hoodie he wore shifted awkwardly, its broken zipper ensuring that one or the other of his shoulders was exposed.

The dumpster was within reach when he confirmed that it was a trap. Stupid move on his part. But food was scarce.

Nic mewled loudly and tried to change direction in mid air.

Physics doesn’t work that way.

A man, hidden behind piles of waste and trash bags, loomed up in front of him, reaching out to catch the neko by the leg. The boy yelped and tried to squirm away.

In his flailing he fell further out of the hand-me-down hoodie. It was obviously intended for someone larger than the small, lean neko. He wore a skimpy pair of underwear and little else beneath it. His skin was pale and smooth.

“Gotcha, ya lil’ beastie.” The man leered. “They said somethin’ was raidin’ their trash cans. Didn’t expect a pretty Nictie like you.”

“Lemme go!” Nic hissed, baring his teeth and trying to bite.

The blow that followed was swift and left Nic seeing star. 

“Shut it. Behave and I might let you get to Processing with a few less bruises…”

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Mile Marker 10

A long-haul trucker in the lane next to them watched the whole thing. Several loud blares from his horn sounded his approval, or mockery. Tate didn’t know which. He simply winced and tried to stare a hole through the floor of the convertible.

Tate hugged his knees to his chest in hopes of trying to maintain some decency. His pale white skin shone with sweat and tanning lotion in the afternoon sun. He clothes, shoes, and socks littered the floor of the passenger’s seat.

Now he knew why Sir had shaved him the evening before. And applied sunscreen before they left on the roadtrip. How far was the beach? He watched the side of the road frantically for road signs.

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Terribly Tiny Places

“Psst. Hey. Hey, gap-tooth!”

Tilly awoke with a start and flailed about in his pillow pile, eyes wide but out of focus. The large bell on his collar chimed. The youth frantically fumbled to silence it.

A chuckle came from outside the bars to his home and Tilly blushed with shame. It was still dark in the Room outside. He didn’t know exactly who was out there - any number of folk from communities in the Walls, in the Floors, Outside. Word travelled, he was famous. Everyone wanted to see him.

“Whada they got ya wearing this time?”

Well, everyone wanted to see what he was wearing and then jeer at him.

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Love Override

“You’re everything to me.” The boy crooned. He nipped at Staton’s neck needily, his eyes half-lidded with carnal lust. The youth’s club attire left little to the imagination - his form fitting leggings made his arousal apparent, which he pressed up against Staton, like a dog in heat.

Staton smirked and pressed a kiss against the boy’s lips. He could hear the heated moan even over the noises from the nearby club. The two were alone in an alleyway, the only light a distant lamp and the glow of the boy’s implants.

“I love you, Staton. You’re perfect.” The last words were muffled as he slowly lowered himself to the ground, his face nuzzled against Staton’s crotch.

He still didn’t know the club kid’s name. Didn’t matter. Staton owned him now.

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Your Blood

“Why he got those chains?”

Kole slumped limply on the ground. The fire in his eyes persisted, but the fight was out of him. A sharp jab to the stomach left him vomiting on the leafy ground, the followup now showed in his swelling eye.

“He’s a slave, course.”

“Why he got all dem scars?”

“He’s a bad slave.”

The gang of mercenaries stood in a semi circle around Kole. Two of the others seemed disinterested, but the two that now stared at the youth made his flesh crawl.

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A Desk Job - Chapter 4, Part 4

This was not the first day that Fenton expected. It was worse than anything he could have imagined. He felt so low. Each of Exham’s words stung with their truth and the smug tone of his voice. 

He really had no choice.

Fenton lowered himself down onto all fours, his face burning with shame, tears pooling at the corners of his eyes. He knew Mr Exham was looking up from his desk now. The youth could feel the smirk on the man’s face, the knowledge of his power over Fenton. For a moment he fumbled with the laces on his shoes before flipping them awkwardly off, leaving them splayed on the ground.

Slowly Fenton inched his way over to the great black wood desk. It loomed massively over him, as did its occupant. Unsure of what to do now, Fenton just remained there, glancing up.

He wanted to cry. Just bury his face in his hands and sob. Fenton knew his face was red and his features contorted as he fought back the tears trickling down his cheeks.

“Good boy.” Mister Exham said. Fenton expected it to sound sarcastic but the man seemed sincere in his praise. Fenton couldn’t speak, only sniffle loudly as he battled the runny-nose that accompanied heavy crying.

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A Desk Job - Chapter 4, Part 3

Fenton didn’t budge. His mouth hung gaping like a stunned fish.

“W…wha?” Was the best he could manage. That fucking piece of shit. Fenton’s thoughts blurred. Was this all a power trip? Why was he hammering this in. Fenton already felt like nothing for coming back to this job. How could he get any lower?

“You know what I said.”

“I…”

“You don’t have a job until you sign the papers. You don’t sign the papers until you are over here, beside my desk, on hands and knees like the little animal you are.”

Fenton squeaked. It was not dignified. He could not believe what he was hearing. He was agog. The teen could not form a cohesive sentence. He sputtered and stuttered.

“I … you …” He slouched. “You … you can’t treat people like this! I’m leaving. I’ll find another job.”

Exham didn’t look up from the paperwork he was sorting through (a habit that was really grating on Fenton’s already split nerves). “No you won’t. You’re going to stay right here.

"I know you, Fenton Brenton. I know your family’s situation. I know why you came back. I also know that you’re the one I want for this job.

"I’m paying you excessively for your self-respect, your dignity, and your consent. You won’t get a better offer for any of those. You’re untalented, unskilled, and unremarkable. You need this job.

"Now remove your shoes, get down on your hands and knees, and crawl over here, boy.”

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A Desk Job - Chapter 4, Part 2

Mister Exham’s office did not appear any different than it did during Fenton’s last visit.

The youth closed the great wooden doors of the office behind himself, trying not to make a sound. The room was empty save for a semi circle of chairs in front of a large, dark wood desk. Nobody sat behind it.

At the back was a large paneled window with long dark drapes framing it on either side. The view outside the glass was two stories above busy Brooks Avenue. 

The walls were lined with the kind of abstract painting that was usually associated with corporate offices. Inoffensive shapes and colors mounted on thick white card and framed very mutely.

Fenton peered quizzically at one, scrunching his nose so his glasses pressed back against his face. When he suddenly became aware of someone behind himself, Fenton’s scream left him blushing and feeling stupid.

Mister Exham stood in the corner of the room, regarding him with a raised eyebrow.

“Fenton.” He nodded. “I’m not surprised you came back.”

Fenton cast his eyes down and tried to think of a response. There wasn’t any that was meaningful so he went with the obligatory. “Its a good fit for me and I’m eager work.”

The long pause that followed made Fenton instantly self conscious again. Had he said something wrong?

“You came crawling back, didn’t you. You had no other option.”

Fenton’s ears burned red and he fidgeted with his hands, glancing up slightly at the man, uncertain of what he expected in response. The asshole was rubbing this in his face.

“I’m … grateful for the work and ready to get started.”

“Then crawl over here and sign the job offer.” Exham motioned to his desk and briskly walked over to it.

It only took a single step before Fenton stopped in his tracks. Exham, without looking up from his desk, wagged a finger and pointed at the ground. “I did say crawl.”

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A Desk Job - Chapter 4, Part 1

The smirk on the secretary’s face was impossible to miss. Fenton knew she knew and she knew Fenton knew she knew. The job. What Mister Exham had asked. That Fenton Brenton came crawling back for this horrible job because he had no other options.

It was the next day. Fenton had made a brisk commute across the city, not wanting to be late on his first day but very much not wanting to be there at all.

“Welcome back.” The woman behind the front desk said curtly, smiling with only her lips so her mouth curled in the corners. While she was no more than in her mid twenties, her glasses had the horned rims that spoke of the 50s. “Go on back. Mister Exham is waiting. I expect we’ll be seeing a lot of you.”

Where Fenton had hoped to see a little pity or at least obliviousness, he instead found further humiliation. If the secretary knew, then who in the office didn’t know?

Already shaking prior to arriving, Fenton found his palms sweaty and his arms quivering. He had to bite down hard on his lower lip to keep his teeth from rattling.

He could only nod to the young woman before pushing open the door into the back offices.

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A Desk Job - Chapter 3, Part 5

The line was dead but Fenton still held the phone to head. Finally he caught his breath and swallowed loudly as though doing so could push all of these emotions flailing about down and away.

His mother looked at him expectantly, obviously pleased with his performance. There was something sickly sadistic in that. If she had any idea what she had just forced him into would she still be smiling? Was a job still more important?

“I’m very proud of you, ” she said. “Its not easy to swallow your pride like that.”

Fenton could only stare down at his shoes. Mister Exham’s word echoed in his mind throughout the evening, filling him with dread and self-consciousness.

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