Escape Plan

"You don't think they'd really sell us naked?" I'd heard that sometimes slaves were auctioned off undressed and I'd even seen photos but I still had a hard time believing that the practice as common as rumored.

"Sure they will," Nicky said. "They always sell the best looking men and women naked. They make more money that way."

"It's barbaric."

"Ultra didn't loan us all that money because they liked us; they did it because they thought we looked hot and they could sell us for a lot more money than they loaned us. If they think we'll sell better naked, then they'll strip us for sure."

"Christ. That's dreadful."

"Have you ever seen a slave auction?"

"No, I think they're vulgar."

"You got that right. They're pretty graphic. The better looking men and women are always sold nude and they make sure the buyers get a real good look at the goods," Nicky said as she opened the letter form Ultra.

"What does it say?" I asked.

"Exactly what you think it says," Nicky said dejectedly as she tossed the letter on her desk and adjusted her slave collar. "Ultra's denied our request for another extension, it's declaring us in default, and it's calling our note."

"What does this mean?"

"It means that unless we come up with $627,285.26 before noon tomorrow, we'll be repo'd."

"Jesus, what can we do?"

"Either we come up with a truckload of money or we'll be slaves," Nicky said. Looking frightened, Nicky stood up, nervously ran her fingers though her hair, and started pacing.

Shocked, I began anxiously tugging at the coat of my tailored, navy, skirt suit with matching designer heels. A true fashionista, I couldn't possibly imagine spending the next five and a half years naked and in chains. Although I'd seen slaves, both men and women, forced to work in public wearing nothing more than a slave collar and manacles, I never thought that such an inhuman fate could ever happen to me.

"This is insane. How in the hell are we going to come up with $600,000.00 by tomorrow? Rob a few banks?"

"Can't do it," Nicky sighed dejectedly. "We don't even have enough time to pull that off."

"Do we even have a plan?"

"Pray Attila approves our loan in the next 24 hours."

"Why would they do that? We're broke."

"I promised them six years servitude instead of five and offered another point per annum in interest."

"That's crazy," I protested. "We can't pay Ultra's loan, how are we going to be able to afford more.

"It's the only way," Nicky said.

"It's obscene," I protested.

"Would you rather be standing on the auction block in a couple of days?"

Just as I shuddered at the thought of standing naked on the auction block while people bid on enslaving me, Lori burst into the room.

"Attila says they'll make you an offer on your loan by early tomorrow afternoon and, if you accept, they can get you the money before the end of the business day."

"Thank God," I exclaimed.

Nicky still looked worried.

"That's a little late," Nicky said. "We'll be repo'd by then."

Lori shrugged, "It's the best they can do. Their loan committee doesn't meet until 1:30 and they can't make a loan of that size without committee approval. I'm assured it's just a formality but they've got to do it."

"Shit," I exclaimed.

"What do you want me to tell them?" Lori asked.

"Tell Attila we greatly appreciate all they've done for us and that we're very eager to receive their offer," Nicky said.

"Will do," Lori said as she started to leave, paused, and then turned back to us. She looked downright frightened and regretful. "Look, I know that I what I said a few minutes ago was pretty shitty and I'm really sorry. I like you guys, I really do. You're great to work for. I know I've got a really bad attitude at times but I don't mean anything by it."

"We're all a little frazzled today," Nicky said.

"Trust me, I'll get it done. I'll get you that loan with Attila."

As Lori left, I stared at Nicky incredulously.

"A fat lot of good that'll do us," I said. "We'll be chained up in the back of a slaver's van by the time the money gets here."

"It leaves us with options."

"Options?"

"We can either take the safe route, turn ourselves in, and spend the next five and a half years in relatively agreeable positions as models, mailgirls or store mannequins, or something, or . . ." Nicky took a deep breath.

"Or what?"

"Or we risk everything, cut these damn things off," Nicky tugged at her slave collar, "go renegade, and lay low until Attila's money comes in."

Just the mention of the word renegade had me worried. Renegade was the term used for collateral who tried to escape her slavery commitment. A renegade was considered any collateral who failed to turn herself in, cut off her collar, ran, resisted, or hid. As renegades we'd be outlaws with a price on our heads. A $20,000.00 reward apiece would be put up for information leading to our capture.

If we ran, we'd have few friends we could count on. Assisting a renegade carried a minimum sentence of two year category II enslavement for each slave. Anyone who helped us could be enslaved and exported. It was too much of a risk to impose on people.

Our photos would be placed in the national facial recognition software grid so that hundreds of street cameras in the city and tens of thousands nationwide, would be examining every face they video to determine if it was us. Our driver's licenses would be flagged; our credit cards and bank accounts would be monitored, our phones would be bugged; our email accounts would be hacked; our home and office would be searched and placed under surveillance, and a BOLO (be on the lookout) notice would be sent to every police department in the nation.

Slavers would pursue us day and night. We'd be on the street and on the run with little money, no credit, and no place to go. And yet, despite everything, even before I asked the question, I knew Nicky would want to go renegade before she'd turn herself in.

"What do you want to do?" I asked.

"I don't want to be a slave," Nicky said as she looked out the window as if she were searching for something. "There they are."

"Huh?"

"There's the slavers. Over there in the gray van," Nicky said as she pointed out the window to the street below.

As I looked out of our second floor window, I could see a gray van with the slavers in the front seat. Mr. Davis was in the driver's seat eating a sandwich while Mr. Rodriguez was examining a laptop. Frightened, I squealed in fear and quickly stepped back from the window least they saw me.

"What are they doing," I asked.

"Keeping track of us. Once slavers collar you, they don't sleep until after they repo you. They'll be out there in that van tracking us all night long."

"That's awful."

"It's going to get worse. At first, they keep their distance but In the last few hours before the repossession, the slavers will get out of their van, come inside, and stick within ten feet of us at all times. After that, they'll never let us leave their eyesight. At that point we'll lose all privacy. They don't care if we're still in bed, in the shower, making love, or whatever, they'll be right there watching us. We won't even be able to take a piss without them looking at some part of our body when we do so. In the last hour, they'll even handcuff themselves to us. So, if we don't run by eight or nine o'clock in the morning, we won't have the chance."

"How do we lose them?"

"I won't be easy. We'll need a plan."

"Have we got a plan?" I asked.

"I think so."