Home Star - Prologue v. 1.0

It was midday. The blazing hot sun was like a whip beating my back.

Suddenly, I was lashed. The literal event hurt much more than a metaphor ever could. Even through my toga, I could feel the leather bite my back. The crack echoed and haunted.

"Faster, Slave," the man possessing the switch barked. Through the voice scrambler embedded into his mask, his tone was sharp, shrill, and nearly made my ears pop.

I lengthened my pace as much as I could. The shackles around my ankles and wrists jingled as I shuffled my feet through the scorching, crimson sand.

I was being brought back to the prison since I had been coded for "acting out" again. Hopefully that man learned to never mock me.

I looked at the complex. It was at the base of the dune I was currently marching down. From a bird's eye view, the building was a gray rectangle surrounded by four gray squares. The whole scene was bordered by an even grayer fence. The bland colors did not illustrate the pain inside: the blinding red of the blood that was shed by many; the crusty brown of the scars upon innocent backs; the demonic black of the suits of our masters.

The man who was escorting me back to what they called "Base Alpha" whipped me once more. "Can't you go any faster?" he asked maliciously.

"No," I responded, trying to sounds strong.

Immediately, I was thrashed again. "No backtalk."

He broke the camel's back at that moment. However, I knew that, if I went ballistic again, I would have to visit Asesino. That was not his real name. It was a nickname given to him by former slaves. His handle meant "murderer" in our native tongue.

Asesino was ruthless. I knew, as I had been beaten by him several times. What he did first was tear off his victim's clothing until she was stark naked. After her toga was at her ankles, he would begin. He would go to his wall. On it was racked many different weapons; lashes, daggers, and other items that were fit to kill. What he chose depended on his mood. If he were especially angry, he would most likely go for a small, jagged knife. If he were uninterested, he would select a wornout whip. Subsequently, he would show the elected thing to her, and he would laugh at the ghastly look on her face.

He would move behind her. He would probably take advantage of her nudity by touching her here, then there, then everywhere. Again, it all depended on his mood. When he was pleased, he would begin his attack. With the blade, he would begin to carve shapes into her back, digging deeper into her skin as she shrieked. With his whip, he wound strike her repeatedly until warm blood began to ooze from her wounds. No matter which of his toys he decided to use, however, her strident scream would always reverberate throughout the entire complex.

Some say that he has raped female slaves and impregnated them. Others say that he has killed them before, and that the putrid smell in his lair is the stench of the carcasses he has hidden.

As my mind strayed to the doings of Asesino, my fury turned to fear. What if I was to meet up with him instead of another abuser? What would he do to me? Would he sexually assault me? There were so many questions that I wanted answers to.

We were at the entrance to Base Alpha. The man who was ushering me typed in a time-consuming code into the processor attached to the wall.

It was a slow, painful procedure, watching the entry open. It seemed like ages had passed by me before a loud grunt signaled that the gate was fully unlocked.

He pushed me, which seemed to be the signal for me to continue. I walked on, my head hanging. I only looked up for a moment to see the terrible saying that was engraved onto the pinnacle of the main building's doorway. "Aut vincere aut mori," it said. When translated from Latin, it meant, "Either to conquer or to die."

He led me to one of the squares beside the rectangle. He shoved me inside, and I fell on my face.

The metal floor was boiling. In fact, it was much hotter within than without. I refuse to scream. I refused to give him that satisfaction.

He yanked me up by the arm, and we resumed. This was the Punishment House, where disobedient slaves were dealt with. Asesino's lair was at the end of the hall. With any luck, I would not end up there.

Shrieks echoed around me. They enveloped me in a sharp embrace and refused to let go. I squirmed and I choked, yet they did not release me.

I saw a pair of slave and master walking down the opposite side of the hallway. Without warning, my usher grabbed me by the arm, halting me. The boy was also stopped, and the two men conversed.

As they talked of great evils, the young man looked to me. He was small and slender, yet his face revealed his true age. His eyes were so hollow, so empty. From them were running two thin rivulets. Though he did not speak a word, his face said it all.

Before I could soothe him, I was shoved again, and I continued to walk. At the end of the hall, there was nothing but shadow. The gloom floated nearer to me with each step I took.

Suddenly, I stood before him.

Asesino looked down upon me and chuckled. "Ah, we meet again," he said.

"Give her what she deserves," my escort growled.

A malicious grin appeared on Asesino's face. "Oh, I will," he replied as the man turned his back and left.

He ran his grotesque finger under my chin. My shackles clinked as I shuddered. His touch felt like embers eating away at my flesh.

He gripped my arm tightly and dragged me to his wall. He chose the deadliest weapon that was assembled upon it; a whip with three small lashes branching out from one stem.

He literally ripped my toga off. "This won't hurt a bit," he said, lying through his yellowing teeth as he walked behind me. I shut my eyes tightly, prepared yet not prepared for what would happen next.