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 came and sat in front of me 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 fumes.
I stared at him for a moment, then muttered bitterly:
"Are you joking with me?"
He smiled:
"No, I'm not one for jokes. Let me prove it to you."
I didn't hear what he said after that. I just felt the world suddenly closing in around me. Then I woke up to find myself tied to a rusty metal chair, my hands bound behind my back. Directly in front of me 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 something coming from the throat of a demon.
I turned, and there he was, the man with the disfigured face, walking toward me 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 me?"
He came closer until I could feel his cold breath against my cheek, making my face shiver involuntarily.
"Something very simple you'll work for me."
"Work for you? Who are you?"
"Let's just say I'm someone 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 became what I had despised more than anything else. I would receive children from their families. Some 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 some products in my small market stall, a strange man entered the square.
He came close and whispered:
"The doctor sent me to check the new shipment."
I sighed quietly. That damned doctor now sending someone in his place? I nodded and gestured toward the storage room behind me.
"Follow me."
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. Some don't speak. As agreed, the shipment's ready."
He stared at me without blinking, then said:
"My men will come tomorrow to pick up the merchandise."
Then he pulled out a small black cloth pouch and tossed it toward me. It hit my chest and fell into my lap. The faint metallic sound it made made me sick. I should have thrown it in his face. I should have screamed: "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 came 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 troublesome, 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 screamed 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 met with the usual scene: three men 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 me 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 me a card, Raghu smiled, and Sylvan patted my shoulder. These three had dreams, something 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 meet the doctor as he'd asked.
The place was as always blindingly white walls, the air thick with the smell of chemicals. I stood before him as he sat behind his metal desk. He said calmly while rolling something small between his fingers:
"Twenty years, isn't it? Twenty years since you started working with me almost a whole lifetime."
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 me?"
"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 metal table. In front of me was that damned doctor, his smile unchanged, still giving his face a demonic cast.
He said dryly:
"Welcome to my lab."
"Where am I?"
"I told you my lab."
I muttered bitterly:
"So you're finally getting rid of me?"
"Get rid of you? I still need you."
He came closer and whispered in my ear:
"And don't worry, I didn't lie to you. You'll meet your son, just as I promised."
Then he straightened up and went to a nearby table. He stopped, turned to me 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 metal engraved with red symbols. He held it up in front of me 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 me in the arm with the dagger.
I screamed:
"What's happening to me?!"
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 same time.
"What are you doing to me?"
He replied while turning his back to me:
"Reshaping you to fit the next stage. Oh, right, before you lose your mind and become my puppet, there are some truths I think you deserve to know."
He turned back toward me, his smile widening:
"Remember the mysterious illness? The one that took your mother's life? Then came 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 me. 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 came 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 me, I didn't cry when my child was torn from my hands, I didn't cry when I became a slave trader. But I cried now.
I was just a human being who wanted to live.