The red sky of Hell faded into a murky magenta. Streetlights flickered to illuminate the darkening roads, and there seemed to be no signs of life. The streets of Sun City were most dangerous during the night, and only the foolhardy and the unsavory would roam around.

From one of the many inconspicuous brick warehouses, a white van pulled out of a back alleyway and began driving down the main road. The driver of that van was Patrick the photographer, seated next to him was Amber, and in the back, seated on a worn-out black coffin, was Michael the photo editor.

"Did you put the pictures online?" Patrick asked as he made a turn onto what looked like an empty highway.

"Yep," said Michael, "It's insane, we've never gotten as much interest as we're getting now."

"You enhanced the bulge, right?" asked Amber, "You know those perverts love an enormous package."

"Talk about packages, this guy is the total package. I've got both men and women asking for his price," Michael added, "We hit the jackpot this time."

"I didn't want to reply to his text so fast, but I also didn't want that moron to get killed before we even had the chance to make a buck off of him," said Patrick, and he wore a smirk that showed he was quite pleased with himself.

"Make sure you keep putting his picture on that feeler website, we want as much interest garnered as possible before we auction him off," said Amber.

"We're at ten thousand views already, I think we should put him in tomorrow's auction instead of the one next week. I don't want to take any chances," said Michael.

"Why the rush?" began Patrick, "It's not like anyone is going to miss him. Think about it. He's just some pretty boy that probably committed suicide and is now alone with nobody. At least this way he'll have some value to whoever becomes his new master," there wasn't a hint of remorse in his expression.

"First, there was that auction house that got jacked. All the merchandise was stolen, raped, or killed. Things have been getting riskier for people like us," Michael narrowed his eyes, "The people entering Hell are lacking common sense, and traffickers are becoming bolder in the ways they gain them. Look at this one," he rapped his knuckles on the black coffin, "If anyone knew our location right now, we'd be dead, and this kid would speed off in the opposite direction."

"Good point," Patrick stroked his goatee as he turned off onto a different street, "We stick by our principles then. Don't get greedy. Let's just dump him off at Dark Fly, collect the check, and we should have enough stones to last us a few months."

"I agree," Amber nodded her head as she exhaled a smoky breath and flicked her cigarette out the window, "Do you think we should have just kept him as a model?" she gave an expression of uncertainty towards Patrick, "We could have kept things legit and had an additional source of income."

"Fuck no," said Patrick, "Look how stupid he is. How many photo shoots would we be able to get in before someone else grabbed him?"

"Just saying," sighed Amber, "You're right though."

"How long till we hit the auction house?" asked Michael.

"About thirty minutes," said Patrick, "That fucking weirdo who runs the place gives me the creeps."

"James?" asked Amber, "He's not so bad. Eccentric, sure," she added, "He's never given us a poor deal before though," and Patrick clicked his tongue but didn't reply right away.

"He's deep in with some powerful people," the faux hawk on Patrick's head seemed to droop in freight as he spoke, "How could he run one of the most successful auctions in all of Sun City without being jacked. Never once has Dark Fly been targeted, robbed, or broken into. Those in the know are terrified of whoever is behind him. Just be on your best behavior and try not to look too weak."

"I know the drill," Amber said, but she looked a bit stressed out. Her forehead was creased, and she had a newly lit cigarette in her mouth.

"I'm with Amber," said Michael, "I want to go legit soon."

"Soon," Patrick agreed, "We need more money. If we can't hire good security, we might as well kiss our assets goodbye, if you know what I mean."

The three went silent as they contemplated. Their hearts quickened, and sometimes their eyes would dart around looking for anything suspicious. It was as if they half expected to be pulled over, robbed, and killed.

This entire conversation was being overheard by a chained-up person laying inside the coffin that Michael was sitting on. Jonas wanted to cry, but tears wouldn't come out. He had been in Hell for barely three hours and was already being human trafficked. He had underestimated the vicious nature of humans who had nothing to lose.

His hands were cuffed behind his back, and his feet were linked with metal chains. A tiny hole in the coffin's side was the only source of air that Jonas had. If the three human traffickers had known their victim would have woken up so quickly, perhaps they might have been much quieter about their situation.

'It seems I was out for less than an hour. I thought buddy said he put enough tranquilizer to take down a lion?' Jonas' thoughts turned panicked, 'I must have taken in less than I remember,' but the real question was what could he do now?

Jonas tried to pat his pockets but realized that his hell phone was missing. 'Of course,' he thought, 'They aren't going to leave me with a way to contact people for help,' although he considered the fact that he had no one to call to begin with.

Jonas listened to their wicked conversation for almost thirty minutes, and during that time his body became noticeably less numb until the point where he could finally move his smaller ligaments around freely.

He felt extremely frustrated, and a bit scared at the same time. Being kidnapped was one thing, but the fact that they nearly hogtied him with iron chains made his stomach churn. 'Fucking assholes. If I survive this, I'm going to fuck them up so badly,' he swore to himself.

Suddenly, the vehicle stopped. Jonas heard Patrick speak briefly on the phone with someone, telling them they had arrived with the goods. The next thing that happened was the back doors of the van being swung open, and four men in black each grabbed a handle of the black coffin, pulling it down from the van and onto the floor of a hanger.

"He's in the coffin?" said a flamboyant voice that Jonas didn't recognize.

"Yep," said Patrick, "You're going to love him, faces like that bring in the big bucks."

"I want to see for myself," said the voice, and then he barked, "Open it up!"

Jonas closed his eyes, once again pretending to be unconscious. The lid of the coffin was unlocked and slid open, revealing a slender, blonde youth who wore black prison scrubs and was bound in chains.

"Gorgeous," said the voice, "I want to touch him," and he stretched a slender finger out to graze Jonas' cheek.

"Hands off my merchandise," growled Patrick. A manicured hand froze, just inches from Jonas' sleeping face.

"My apologies," the flamboyant man said, "I got a little carried away, how very unprofessional of me," Patrick shook his head slightly, he truly hated dealing with this specific curator, he was way too much of a character.

"Whatever, James. Just keep him safe, and we'll be back tomorrow for the auction," and Patrick watched as men lifted Jonas' body from the coffin and dragged him over to what looked like a cage on wheels, the kind the circus might use for a tiger.

"Of course, our auction has been around for fifty years, and not once have we ever had a problem with product escaping or being stolen," James said with a pouting face. He barked once more at his men, "Wheel the product into lock-up!"

"We were getting a ton of interest online," Amber said, "I had Michael redirect that traffic by referencing your business."

"Perfect," James said while smacking his lips, "We'll have him ready to go for tomorrow's auction, and considering we have a few featured products, the crowd should be big enough to fetch a great price on the boy."

"That's what I like to hear," said Patrick as he watched his goods being rolled away and into a safe location. As the large hangar doors were pulled shut, he and his partners got back into their van and pulled out of the warehouse, onto an empty street, and drove off into the night.

Jonas' eyes became slits but realized that the large cage he was in had a black sheet thrown over it, which made things incredibly hard to see. He had to be careful not to move because if he did; the chains wound around his body would rattle and shake, giving off the fact that he was awake and well. Instead, Jonas just laid extremely still, as he tried to make out anything he could from the various voices speaking around him.

Besides a few tidbits of conversation about an auction, and lots of products available, he garnered nothing at all that could help himself escape.

"Okay gentleman," said James the curator, "Just leave the boy in the dark for now, and once you hear him wake up, make sure you come to get me immediately. Oh," he added, and his voice became cold, "Don't you dare let Rick ruin this one. Fucking brute," and then Jonas heard the tapping of high-heeled boots echoing off the walls as James walked away.

As the minutes turned to hours, Jonas found that lying there in the darkness was slightly peaceful, all things considered. He no longer felt panicky, and truth be told, he was feeling resigned to his situation.

There was absolutely no way he was going to escape twenty pounds of chains tied against his feet, hands, and neck. All while in a locked cage, surrounded by guards, in a locked warehouse. Surely, the odds were stacked against him, but once he was sold to someone. Now that was a different story.

Mr. Duran had flat out warned him about being locked in a cage by a pervert for all of eternity, and Jonas felt angry at himself for not taking that warning seriously.

What had gone through his mind when he saw that job posting? Jonas tried to recall how nervous and excited he had been, and those feelings quickly turned to bitter resentment. Didn't anyone have any sympathy for a lonely, recently killed teenager who just wanted some extra money? It only took being human trafficked for Jonas to realize that no one had any sympathy for him at all.

Sad moans and tearful crying would sometimes break his drifting thoughts, but those sounds didn't scare him as much as they should have as those sounds were pretty much familiar to him. He recalled the moments when he and his brother would find themselves in a brand-new foster home, and how many of the kids would make noises just like Jonas' kidnapped fellows. Jonas and those kids had received no sympathy back then, and no matter how many homes they placed him in, there was no sympathy there either.

Jonas was quite glad that he hadn't been disturbed since arriving, but he assumed eventually he would have to face the music. He wondered what Drake was doing at that moment. Could his brother be like him, locked up, and being made a plaything for someone else? Or perhaps he had already conquered the sixth floor, subjugating its Prince of Hell and all its people under his thumb. The thought brought a smile to his face. He knew that no matter where his brother went, Drake Ariel was sure to cause trouble.

Jonas' thoughts of his brother made the time flow by peacefully, and although he tried to shut his eyes, he could not fall asleep in that metal cage. 'I need to take a piss,' he thought as he became slightly irritated from boredom. 'Ah fuck it,' he suddenly sat bolt upright and the chains dangling from his body rattled loudly. They pulled the curtain of his cage off and a blinding light caused Jonas to squint in pain.

"Should I go get James?" one guard asked.

"Not yet," said a deep voice, "It's my play-time," and it seemed as if this must have been a normal occurrence for the guards, for they nodded their heads obediently and stood at attention behind the owner of the voice. "Wakey-wakey, kid."

Jonas' eyes adjusted, and he could take in his surroundings for the first time in hours. They seemed to be in an enormous warehouse, with dozens of wheeled cages just like the one he was in, that formed lines. Some of them were covered with black sheets just like his, but others, Jonas, could see the occupants very well.

Most looked scared, men and women included. Some wore fresh prison scrubs that told Jonas they had just recently died, other people wore unfamiliar clothing, while wearing blank expressions that told Jonas they were used to being caged, or perhaps no one would buy them.

The gruff man who had been speaking to Jonas was staring into the cage with a merciless grin on his face. He wore a black suit that looked like it was about to tear at the seams because of his bulging muscles, and he had both a very rough five o'clock shadow and extremely messy hair.

"Sup," said Jonas, he made an expression of mild interest.

"You've probably realized what's going on by now, right?" said the gruff man, his grin growing even larger. "You're fucked, that's what's going on."

"Okay, boomer," Jonas stretched out lazily, and the gruff man laughed.

"I'm Rick, head of security," he said, "What's your name, funny guy?"

"Jonas," said Jonas, "Since we're friends now, how about you do me a solid and unlock these shackles so I can take a piss?"

"Sure thing," said Rick, "Alright boys, let him come stretch his legs," there was a cruel look in his eye as he nodded towards his men. Jonas had a bad feeling creeping across his skin, but he was almost sure that no one would kill him until they had sold him, right?