The Price Of Justice

They say don’t make your work your life, but Erin had always existed to write. From the morning to night, they would sit at their computer and type away. First, creative stories. Then, non-fiction, documentary-type stuff. Now, they had made a career for themselves in journalism. Nowadays, the hot topics were always about exposing corrupt people, politicians, usually, and when they wrote about Nash Knillgh, the article was accompanied by photos of the senator sitting at elegant tables, making deals with drug lords, snorting drugs off gilded glass, ignoring his wife’s calls. Erin didn’t take those pictures, but they took their article to a new level, one that drew the attention of society - especially the Knillgh family.

Erin eyed their hands, bound with rusted metal above their head. They spit out a chipped tooth, although they thought they had nothing left in their mouth. Before them sat a computer with the camera on, showing Erin’s full, naked body to a live audience. Across the globe? Probably. Erin couldn’t see that close, but did see the messages flying through. They didn’t try to shake themselves free of the shackles, just stood there in pain as large font erupted on the screen: “PLACE BID,” it flashed. “1,000 FOR EYE. 5,000 FOR LIMB. 50,000 FOR DEATH.” The messages flashed large enough for Erin to see and understand that they were now a product.

And the bids began rolling in.

Comments 0