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When I was a teenager about Sixteen or Seventeen years old.. I had started causing more trouble against my step-father.. And rebelling against him.. And the Brutal Beatings he gave me, were no longer having the same effect.. As it had becoming Numbing..

So he decided to take me someplace to Desensitize me, Mentally instead of Physically now.. But of coarse he didn’t tell me what he had in store for me.. So I just assumed he was having me case a place out to steal something later on for him.. But as we arrived at this warehouse at the bad side of town,  I entered inside with my step-father and realized it was a gambling event taking place.. But not the type of gambling you would normal think of..

Men.. Owners of Slaves.. And Spectators.. And the Slaves themselves were there.. And these Slaves were Forced to Kill for there Own Lives as their Owners Placed Wagers on Them.. It was a Sick and Disgusting Sport of Russian Roulette .. And the Blood that Stained the Walls and Covered Cement Floors, from the Deaths that Already Occurred, now lay in a Corner Pilled On One Another..

My step-father then placed a firm grip on both my shoulders and lead me to an area to get a better view.. As I was the only female there.. And was his Property..  The Smell of Death Curdled in the Air and started to Sour my Stomach.. And then it got worse, when I saw the slaves that were there, had numbers on there shirts..

Many Men were Crying.. There Sanity being pushed to the Breaking Point.. But one man remained mostly calm as his eyes were a Piercing Hazel.. Clearly Praying and Looking for a way Out..

Number 13..

He then was pushed into the ring with another slave in front of him, and another slave behind him.. It was a circle of slaves..  The guns were raised that were handcuffed to there wrists of the slaves and pointed to the head of the slave in front of them, by the Barking Orders of One Man That Orchestrated This Mad Game. The sweat poured off the Brows of these Poor Men who Wanted Out. The crowd of people All Around Cheered with Excitement to such a Sick an Grotesques Thing About To Take Place..

And Then It Happened!! The Signal was Given, and Sounds of Gunshots that had Gone Off For Some of Slaves as the Noise Echoed in My Ears in Unison. I Jumped with a Stiff Fright and ended up Turning to Puke..  My Step-father’s hands gripped me Tighter and turned me back around to keep me in my place.. As I saw the Blood Spray upon the faces of some of the other slaves in the ring. And some of the Spectators as well.. Many Men Dropped to the Ground in a Now Bloody Lifeless Body, that had Gone Cold.. While the others that survived, Screamed in Terror for the Madness of what they had Done.. And My eyes had flicked to Number 13, who bent down fighting the urge to Puke of Such Mental Anguish and Cruelty..

And then all of sudden Number 8 tries to Run for Freedom, only to get Knocked Down and Thrown Back in the Ring.. As the survivors are then rounded back up again in a ring formation..

And another Unison Shots are Fired Again on the Signal.. And Three of the Six Men Remaining Go Down.. And then Number 4 Breaks and Charges at a Guard.. “BANG” One Cold Shot is Fired from the Guard, and the Number 4 drops.. Now there is only Two Men Left.. Number 17 and Number 13..

Tears now now fill eyes watching this Event.. I finally understood why my step-father brought me here.. To teach me a lesson, of what he could do to me.. That I was only his step-daughter with in public view.. But outside of that, I was just an Owned Slave.. And this was a Sharp Reminder, that I was Nothing More than just a Servant for him.. Another Slave..And he could Dispose of me of whenever his Choosing..

As I then wiped away the tears, the fear had now sunk in, and I began to shake uncontrollably all over my body, wanting to leave.. But was forced to stay and watch.. I then noticed Number 13 dropping to knees and wiping the sweat from his forehead.. As a guard then abruptly came forward and Jabbed Number 13 in the Ribs, causing him to stand back on his feet..

And Number 13 Cursed in Heavy English Accent..

“Fuck you. I swear to god, I will make you pay for this.” As the Guard just Smirked Dark and Cold at him.. And the final around had now begun.. Both Men stood face to face..

The Signal was Given.. And nothing Happen, but the sound of “Clicks”.. And Both Men Number 17 and Number 13 are forced to take 13 steps back, heading towards the Blood covered walls, as they turn back around.. With sickness in there eyes, and on the Verge of Mentally Breaking..

Then the Last Signal is Given, and One Shot is Heard.. And Number 17 Falls to the Ground.. As Number 13 is Dragged Away, and Starts Screaming, “I WON! Let me go! I WON!” The Spectators Curse or Cheer as some went to get there Winnings..

This was A Human Trafficking Twisted Game..

Decade or so Later, After I had Gotten Free from my Step-Father, Fate Lead Me to the Man with the Hazel Piercing Eyes.. Number 13.. And I learned of his Name.. Jensen Ames.. We became friends after that, he taken on other Alias names in his life.. Like Frank Martin.. And Chev Chelios.. He was now Working as a Transporter and Trying To Make a Happy and Better Life For Himself..

But as to the Memory of that Day, this is what Helped Made Me Become Who I Am.. Why I Rule With A Whip And Not A Gun.

I Hate the Sound.. I Hate The Cold Metal.. And I Hate The Senseless Destruction Of  Death That Comes From It..

And I will Never Forget It..