Women, in cages.

When you were a kid, maybe around seven or eight, your dad took you to an animal shelter to adopt a dog after the family retriever had died of old age. You can still remember how overwhelming it was initally, walking in and seeing dogs of every variety in kennels, a wall of sound hitting you as the canines greeted your arrival.

Looking out the blinds into the main area, what you saw could only be described as a human equivalent to that.

Several rows of cages were lined up, all of them roughly the size of a smaller shower cubical. And each them contained a woman of different ethnicities, ages, and body types. Some of them seemed more aggressive than others, rattling their cages, snarling incoherently through muzzles that had been affixed to their faces. The whole thing struck you as so surreal.

But your attention quickly snapped to the lone man standing before one of the cages. He was tall, well dressed and talking away on his phone. Judging by his relaxed demeanour it didn’t seem like he had heard the commotion going on in the office, but you didn’t like the look of him. There was a strange sense of danger about the guy that wasn’t present in the men you had just beaten.

“Their boss,” Mr Spellman muttered, “or at least someone a little higher up in the food chain.”

You hummed thoughtfully, your eyes returning to the cages. Going through each cage you strained your eyes trying to find anyone recognisable until you came to a head of grey hair. Mrs Harris. She was naked and thrashing about in her cage, but otherwise seemed unharmed. Perhaps two cells down you spotted Mrs Locknae, but whatever relief you felt about that discovery was quickly smothered when the man walked directly in front of her cell.

The man was still on the phone, but from the way he was gesturing about you got the impression he was talking specifically about the pregnant woman before him. You also noticed an uzi slung over his shoulder.

“…..shit,”

Mr Locknae came rushing over and his eyes followed your gaze. A second later he made to rush out, only to be stopped by Mr Spellman’s firm grasp.

“Don’t be stupid Bob!”

“That bastard has my wife!” He growled, struggling to break free. “We need to get out there and save her!”

You raised your hands, trying to placate the **** man. “Mr Locknae, listen we can’t just run out there half cocked. That guy’s armed with a fucking machine gun and he’s right near the women, any stray bullet could get someone killed! We need to be smart about this.”

“Oh yeah, and what’s your bright idea?!”

Mr Spellman eased his grip. “We’ll sneak over there, wait for an opportunity where he’s away from the women,” he lifted his gun with a grimace, “and I’ll unload on him.”

You looked back at the police officer and once again tried to find a set of keys for the handcuffs. No dice.

“We’ll come back,” you reassured her, “once we deal with that scumbag out there.”

The only response you received was a growl of frustration.

The three of you snuck out from the room and into the main holding area, staying close to the wall and crouching low behind the miscellaneous wooden crates and forklifts that were left about. You didn’t need to be overly quiet, considering that a cacophony of groans, growls, hisses, cries and lewd moans echoed from each of the cages as the women desperately ached to be fucked.

A table lay ahead, littered with lab equipment that you couldn’t make sense of. Vials of blood were sitting in racks, ready to be shipped off inside the wooden crates along with a few other chemicals that you didn’t recognise. What the hell were these traffickers doing here?

As you drew closer, the man’s conversation became a little clearer. His accent was strange and vaguely European.

“Yes, I understand…”

A muffled response.

“….no, I wouldn’t worry about that. The police were onto this operation, but the event has likely distracted them.”

Another beat, followed by a huff of laughter from the man.

“All I have to do is offer up a girl now and then to these cretins and it’s enough to stop them from asking questions…..no, of course not. The Order hasn’t been mentioned, everything has gone as was foreseen. None of the people here can burn us. But of course, at this stage what would it matter? The dawn of the new era has arrived.”

The gears of your mind turned round and round as you processed this information. What the hell was this guy taking about? What was he doing here beyond simple sex trafficking? You got a bad feeling churning away in your gut.

“Oh, the new batch of women is an interesting collection. The ancient texts speak of changes, but I couldn’t fathom the extent until I saw them with my own eyes. Even the elderly have undergone it! Yes….yes, and I think you’ll be pleased to know one in particular is pregnant.”

Another huff of laughter and a strange hint of excitement in his voice.

“We did the scans, the offspring are female….yes, exactly! So many tests to be done, this can only benefit the Order’s research!”

The mention of his unborn children was a step too far and despite your efforts to restrain him, Mr Locknae broke away from your place of cover and rushed out to confront the man. He got perhaps seven feet away before the man spun around and squeezed off a burst of fire that tore through Mr Locknae’s right shoulder.

The man, with his thin, hard face, looked down at the wounded Locknae with an expression of only mild curiosity.

“I’ll call you back,” he said coldly into his phone, “Something has just come to my attention.”

Putting his phone away, the man strolled over to Locknae’s prone, bleeding form. “Now what is this? An intruder?” He kicked the wounded man hard in the gut, coaxing a scream of pain from him. “What on earth are you doing in here? Who let you in?” He sighed in frustration, “those morons weren’t watching the door, were they?”

From your side Mr Spellman raised his gun and took aim, but the mysterious man seemed to have a sixth sense about danger and lifted his head vaguely in your direction, his own gun pressed hard to Mr Locknae’s chest.

“If there are any more little rodents scurrying about, I’m going to count to three before I kill your friend…”

You and Mr Spellman exchanged a glance. What could you do in this situation? Your mind raced for an answer.

“One…”

You gestured for Spellman to stay low, and mouthed, “distraction…”

“Two…”

“Alright!” You called, standing up with your hands in the air. “Alright, relax, I’m coming…”

There was something alien about the man’s expression. His eyes had an unnerving stillness to them as he watched you approach. He raised his gun level to your chest, halting you.

“What are you doing my place of business?” He asked in a very mild voice.

You glanced down at Mr Locknae, who looked up at you apologetically while nursing his shoulder.

“In case you haven’t noticed, it’s a complete shitshow outside,” you tried to keep your voice level, “me and my buddy were just trying to find shelter.”

The man hummed. “Now…why don’t I believe you?”

You **** yourself to meet his gaze. “It’s the apocalypse,” you replied, “we were just trying to find somewhere safe.”

“It’s not the apocalypse,” the man chided, “that is such small thinking on your part. The world is going through a period of great transition! The old ways might be dying, but the new era is fledging, about to take flight!”

This was the most animated he had been, caught up in his own words of excitement, and in that moment you glanced down at Locknae. His expression, though pained, grew resolute. A silent exchanged occurred between you.

“But of course,” the man went on, “it will require the soil of our new Garden of Eden to be amended with the corpses of the obsolete world. People like you two.”

He raised his gun once again, and in that moment two things happened. Mr Locknae struck out with his good arm and slapped the uzi to the side and you dived forward to wrestle the man to the ground.

It wasn’t easy. Beneath his tailored suit you could feel the man’s considerable muscles work to push you away as you both struggled for the gun. But luckily your body had grown enhanced and you were able to apply greater pressure on his wrist.

He snarled in a foreign language that meant nothing to you, kneed you hard in the ribs. You grunted in pain but kept your grip tight. Mustn’t let him point the gun anywhere in your direction. Keep it away, break his damned wrist if you have to…

Realising that he wasn’t going to pry your hands off, he instead turned to punching you hard in the face. It was awkward as the two of you scuffled, and he missed the first few times, but you felt him connect with the fourth blow across your cheek. Your jaw rattled, you accidentally bit your tongue and the coppery taste of blood began to fill your mouth. Just the distraction he needed to wrest the gun away from you.

There was a malevolent smile as he held the gun down at you. He breathed heavily, his eyes bloodshot and maddened. Despite the barrel being directed inches away you **** yourself to look him in the eye, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.

A shot rung out…

…and the man suddenly had a tranquilliser dart stuck in his throat. His eyes went wide, he dropped the gun at once and clutched as his throat desperately as blood began to spurt out between his fingers. He gurgled a little and then fell backwards, rasping and writhing before growing very still.

Mr Spellman walked out, the smoking gun shaking in his hands. “You guys ok?”

You made to respond, but between your bleeding tongue and the bruising on your cheek all it did was send a jolt of pain through your mouth. You settled on a thumbs up.

Mr Locknae was groaning in agony, his shirt soaked crimson. You and Spellman went to work making a tourniquet out of your torn shirt, hoping that it would be good enough until you could get him back to the house where your mother could properly patch him up.

As you were doing so you felt the hard barrel of the uzi press sharply into your back, stilling your movements. Slowly you turned around, finding yourself confronted with the police officer, manacled hands around the discarded weapon and aimed squarely at you. Her eyes were wide and deranged.

“Old man, drop your weapon,” she hissed, and when he did so she directed her weapon back at you. “Now….get your fucking pants off and stick that cock in me!”

“Officaaagh,” your words came out as a mumble before pain lanced across the inside of your mouth. Panic began to set in as you realised you couldn’t command her…