Slave 2513a (manxman) SAMPLE

Prologue: Slave 2513a

^ Casper ^

[A/N]: Oh, beforehand. If you feel the need to point out spelling, or grammatical errors, or anything doesn't seem logical to you. Just keep it to yourself alright? The book is done, I'm not going back to fix stuff because I have other books to work on. Pointing this stuff out just makes me want to delete the book, alright?

Casper

The room was cold. Dark. The only sounds to be heard were the occasional whimper and soft cry from those frightened of what was to come. I could hear the announcer now, clear as day. "Twenty thousand. Do I hear Twenty five? Going once. Going twice. Sold!" A slam of the gavel followed.

This is what mankind has been reduced to, humans no longer being the dominant species. It all happened around five years ago, when a war broke out between man and werewolf. They were sick of living in the shadows and desided to rise up, all hell breaking loose from there. Lots of people were killed.

Everyone over the age of thirty were slaughtered, the rest taken as slaves. Werewolves had it in their heads that those over thirty would be to difficult to train, would always be rebellious. So that went most of the population. I'm not sure how many people are still alive, if you could call this living at all.

Anyway, the remaining few were divided into warehouses, based on a person's age and gender. I am in Warehouse 13, for boys age sixteen to twenty. And soon enough I'll get moved to Warehouse 14, once I turn twenty-one.

I had my back pressed against the cage wall, my knees had to be bent to fit but luckly there was enough room that they weren't pressed into my chest like some of the others. I rested my arms across my knees, head falling back as the cold of the metal seeped through my ragged shirt and bit at my flesh.

This cage was probably ment for a dog, or some small circus animal and not a human. But werewolves don't really give a crap about being humane.

I closed my eyes and tried to focus on the steady shallow rhythm of my own breath. Which was hard to do when there was a good twenty other people in the room with me, all anxious and scared. The room was small, but it was big enough to line about twelve cages along the wall of either side. Some of them were empty. All will be by the end of tonight.

Because today is auction day, and all slaves must go.

A wail broke through the air, and I couldn't help but sigh. This again? I tilted by head slightly to glance at him. He was in a cage across the room from me, and had to be no older than sixteen. The boy started to full out sob, tear tracks cutting through the dirt caked on his face. Yes, cry. I wanted to scoff, they'll take pity on you for sure.

The only door to the room was suddenly opened with a creak, the blinding light that flooded in made me flinch. Then, the door was closed again, after two men entered. Both of them werewolves, trusted with the task of training and handling the slaves. The slave trainers. After all these years I still don't know their names, not that I care. The first one I referred to as Scar.

He was a big fucker. About six feet and four inches of pure muscle that one. Long, untamed black hair, and eyes to match. He has a scar starting from his left temple that goes all the way down to his chin. The other one, I call Snake. He wasn't as tall or buff as his companion, but he was strong.

His brown hair was slicked back with a classic greaser look. Vibrant green eyes and sharp canines reminded me of a viper. It didn't help that he has a snake tattoo on his neck.