The Slaughterhouse

- 8 -

It was a cold winter night, and everywhere, both inside and outside of the Slaughterhouse, it was completely silent. The gale-force winds were howling outside the all made of metal building, resonating outside, clanking against the sides in a petrifying noise that echoed through the polluted air outside, yet, inside, only a very gentle whistle could be heard. For the fifth night in a row, there was a snowstorm outside, which rocked ever so slightly the building and huge, wet pieces of snow fluttered down to the ground, crashing against the ground at full speed. At least three or four feet of snow had added to the foot that was already present at the start of the storm, totalling around four of five feet of snow, which was something that had never been seen before. Nevertheless, those inside didn't want to go outside, since they had almost everything they wanted inside. Almost. One of the only few things they were missing out on was food. Despite having a very successful farming industry, the Slaughterhouse had a lot of trouble feeding each of its inhabitants, from the rich class to the slaves, and even if the slaves, because that's really what they were despite the names they gave their possessions, often had less good quality food, it was hard feeding the rich class everything they wanted. It was completely silent inside, except from a rising, loud, desperate scream in the night, a plead for help. A young man, dressed in fancy clothes that weren't his to begin with and were furthermore, slightly too big for him was being dragged down by two merciless guards, tugging on him, dragging him back to the facility which he had escaped from. Of course, he was fighting his hardest to get away from them, squirming in the guards' hands, kicking, and screaming at the top of his lungs, enraged that he was taken away from the place he called his home. The young man was angry, pissed that he had been found after hiding for so long in one of the rich men's apartments, surviving by eating leftovers of the family he was staying with when they weren't around. Somewhat, he had been able to make himself unnoticed for weeks, making no to very low noise, being almost as silent and subtle as a shadow, striking only when it was dark or when nobody was around. He could almost be considered as the human equivalent to a rat, but now that he was caught, the cat holding him carefully into its jaw, he had nowhere to go, nowhere to run to, nowhere he felt safe, except in the family's closet, where he had hidden under piles of clothes they hadn't taken time to fold for weeks. Of course, the young man frowned, reluctantly letting himself get dragged back to his section. With blue raspberry hued hair, the young man was very noticeable in the crowd of curious that had started to form around him, making more than one's head turn, just from how loudly he was screaming, demanding to see another officer.

"What's your name, loud little piece of shit? We'll see if you're in the records," growled the officer, "or maybe you'd prefer if my colleague and I here ripped away your clothes just to see if you have your mark?"

The ocean blue-haired male looked up at the officers, squinting his eyes as if he was trying to determine whether or not they really had the guts to undress him in front of everyone, while all of those people looked at him. Just to prove they weren't joking around, the other officer put his hand on the young man's collar, menacing to rip his shirt off.

"No need to be this rude!" angrily replied the tall young male, as he was brought to another room, where the was computer laid on a table on the side, needing a fingerprint and a retina scan to work and activate the whole process. "My name is Kim Taehyung," simply announced the aquamarine hued haired male.

The most surprising part of this room was a huge robotic arm with a red tube running from the bottom to the top of it, still inactive, drilled and bolted into the ground right next to an ominous-looking seat, that very much resembled the ones at the dentist. It could be bent back down as one liked, and, connected to the top of the red tube, was laid on top of the robotic arm, a big transparent tank, filled with an ink-like thick liquid, only a little more pale than blood itself. Taehyung already knew that this wasn't a good sign and that nothing good could result in this, especially since there seemed to be, added to the seat, those huge black straps for the wrists and ankles. One of the guards was keeping a very keen eye on his prisoner, while the other was searching through the records for Taehyung's name, which would only prove that the young male was already part of the slaves and that he maybe belonged to someone already, registered as one of the elite's servants, but there was no record of his name anywhere, from the section of the Labourers to the Testers to the Escorts, no "Kim Taehyung" was registered.