Just a quick note, everything that is in () is the thoughts of the MC.
Be sure to check out the other work that I have, Respawned:New game Plus
http://royalroadl.com/fiction/3181
Chapter 1
Malcolm woke up in a fenced up barn filled with straws and about 50 other people on the floor. All of them were naked, lying on the ground. Even though he don't exactly where he is, he have some idea what happened. He decided that it was in his best interest not to move or called for help. He pretended that he was still out cold.
(Damn the 1 in 8 chances.)
After a while, he noticed that some of the other people was waking up as well. Most of them got up without saying a word and stood still.
"Where am I?"
One of the people stood up confused and holding his head.
*BANG*
A gunshot echoed throughout the barn. The one that asked the question had his brains splattered on the straw and on some other unfortunate people. The body slumped onto the floor with a thud. Even though normally this would warrant a scream, no one else did. Everyone that was awake ignored that someone just died.
"Nice shot, new guy!"
There were 2 men dressed like cowboys standing outside of the fence, both holding a rifle. The old man points at the body and continue to speak with the other.
"We have to make sure there are no fakers before we can truck them out to their owners."
"What about the dead ones?"
"We harvest their organs to be sold. It's not as profitable as selling them as Z-slaves but we can still make a pretty penny. Now if possible, make sure you hit the brain instead of anything else. We can't sell their organs if they are damaged."
"How do we figure out of which one are fakers?"
"Well, approximately 1 in 8 people is immune. We have about 50 Zs in this batch, so we are expecting about 7-8 fakers. Of course, there could be more or less, but the number just helps us not to be over zealous with the examination. Since everyone here is on death row anyway, by law, we are supposed to kill those are immune to complete the death sentence. Those that are affected by the Z-rum turns basically into a zombie. They are put in a permanent hypnotic state. They have no emotions, so look into their eyes and you will see that there is no life. They still have survival instincts though, so they will still automatically eat, shit, sleep and react to pain. They will do everything what their master tells them to do. They lose all their vocal capabilities as well, so the easiest way to tell a faker is to trick them to make a sound."
"How do they tell who is their master?"
"It's pretty simple, it would be the first person that they see and gives a command, much like imprinting on a chick at birth. After the check is finished here, we will pump them full of Z-rum and blindfold them to reset."
A scream came from the room. A female woke up and saw the blood and body. She became hysterical and ran around the barn looking for an exit.
*BANG*
Her right leg became a bloody mess. She fell on the floor crying and holding on to what is left of her right foot.
*BANG*
Her body slumps on to the floor with blood and brain oozing out of her temple, dying the straws dark red. The old man reloaded his gun.
"Damn, what a shame, she was quite a looker too. Would of been able to sell her for more."
Turning back to the new guys, he started to explain.
" If you can't take a clean shot to the head, take out their legs first. Even if you miss and hit another Z's leg, we can salvage the Z."
As if the gun shots were an alarm clock, almost everyone in the room has woken up.
(I better stand up and start acting like a Z.)
Malcolm rose up, took a deep breath and gave it his all to pretend to be as lifeless as possible in order to survive. This was the universe being ironically cruel to him, as most of the time, he had to act as full of life and emotion as possible to make a living. Before all of this happened, he was an failing actor. At a very young age, he was told by his parents and everyone that his acting skills was superb. Believing what everyone has told him, he dived head first into the world of acting with his parents as his financial back up. He took all the classes that involves acting in college and looked at nothing else. Unfortunately, he was never able to land any major role in any movies. Even after his parents' death, he kept trying whole heartedly as if it was his duty to complete their last wish. Soon the inheritance dried up and he ended up at multiple dead-end part time jobs , renting a run-down apartment. He barely had enough time to go to any casting interviews.
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"Here is a trick that usually works. Watch this. HEY YOU. SMILE."
(I think he is pointing at me, how would a Z smile?)
He searched his memories about all the different movies and techniques about smiling. He found one that was the most fitting. He imitated the scene where Arnold tried to fake a smile in Terminator 2 as best as he could.
"Common buddy, give me a good smile"
The bald man raised his rifle and aimed at Malcolm. He gave another awkward Arnold smile and returned to the stoic face.
(Even if he find out that I am a faker, he will just put me out of my misery. There is no point in struggling.)
*BANG*
A man behind him screams in anguish. Malcolm resisted the urge to turn around. He is having a hard time keeping his emotionless face.
*BANG*
*Thud*
The screaming stopped, and returns to the dreaded silence.
"See, he didn't smile. Even though I was talking to the one in front of him, he should still follow my command. The one in the front there, that's what a classic Z should look like. No reaction, calm, even when someone behind him get shot, he didn't react anyway."
(Should I count this as a praise to my acting skill?)
"Alright lets finish up here, there is at most 2 to 3 more fakers. It should be safe to go in now. You go in herd the Z to the brander. No faker has ever survived it. After that, load them all up to the truck and clean out the bodies."
The Z-slaves were all channeled into a small opening in the fence. There they made to wait in line. The 2 men signal the first person to come forward to the brander. It was a upright table fitted with restraints. The 2 man secured the woman on to the table and the new guy began disinfecting her left shoulder with a wipe and alcohol. He started to wipe her shoulder and gradually move down. The older man immediately understand the young man's intention.
"I would stop that if I were you. Rule number 1, you do not touch the merchandise. If I see you do that again, I will blow your hands off."
Immediately the youngster retracted his hand and began other preparations of the branding. He took a needle, filled it with Z-rum. The old man immediately stopped him.
"You don't shoot them up with Z-rum first, you brand them first. That way if it is a faker, we won't waste the meds."
As he said that, he raised a red hot brand with a large Z and some small decorations. He pressed it onto the shoulder of the female. She started to spasm, trying to get away from the pain. The room filled with smell of charred flesh. She did not make a single sound except the heavy breathing recovering from the pain..
"Okay, now you inject her."
After he injected her with a needle, he put a blindfold on her and led her onto a cargo filled with seats. He buckled her in and came back to the brander. The old man pointed at Malcolm, which was next in line.
"Come over here."
Malcolm followed his instructions and stood beside the table.
"Lay down."
Laying down on the table, the 2 men secured his arms and legs. Staring at the ceiling, he mentally prepare the pain that is to come.
*BANG*
*Thud*
"See, no one survives the brander. It's too much of a physiological torture. Always look at the line up while you are doing the branding."
One of the faker got scared last moment and tried to run away. The old man heats up the large Z brand and pushed it onto the left shoulder. Just like the woman before, he spasm and twisted his body to get away from the pain. Barely he was able to contain his voice and plea for relief from the pain. The young man wiped away the sweat on his arm, injected the needle, blindfolded and released Malcom from the torture table.
"Get into the cargo."
After sitting on the bus, he blacked out from the combination of the pain and the medication.