Lahat ng Kabanata ng Enslaved to Zion: Kabanata 1 - Kabanata 10

Coming to my senses, I'm able to make out voices but all I can see is darkness. Who are the voices coming from? I listen to my surroundings as my world comes back together like puzzle pieces in my previously jumbled mind. I don't believe I recognize any of these sounds or voices. Suddenly, my last memories come cascading back to me, crashing into my head with a roar. Opening my eyes, I try to jolt up but my efforts are in vain. Where am I? What happened after I was picked up by that ugly brute on horseback? Piece after piece, floats into place as the world builds in the darkness around me. My eyes seem to be covered with a dark cloth of sorts and my hands and ankles are bound by some kind of scratchy rope, though it feels more like thorns or barbed wire against what used to be my soft, delicate skin. I can only imagine what I must look like now, covered in sweat and dirt, bruises and blood. As my captors come to the realization that I've awoken, I hear footsteps coming in my directi

The blood pulsing through me freezes upon seeing the ugly man in the doorway. Now is not the time to make a run for it, though the thought briefly flashes through my mind. As though somehow sensing the possibility of my resistence, the woman who had given me water and helped me to dress, comes close to me. Her trembling hands reach out to tidy some stray hairs that the older woman seems to have missed before. Hardly audible even to my own ears, she leans in and whispers to me, her voice shaking with fear. "Go now. Don't fight back, whatever you do. It will only make things more difficult for you." She steps away, without another word, only giving me a nudge from behind to coax me forward. Having grown impatient, the gruff man huffs into the room and grabs me, clamping down heavy metal cuffs onto my wrists. He yanks me so hard that I nearly fall into him, but he stops me short and attaches a chain to my cuffs. They're so heavy that I feel like I'm going to drop to the floor with a

A shorter man appears in an identical black suit to the one worn by the man carrying me. He opens a back door on the car, while a third black suited man opens the door on the opposite side. I'm placed firmly into the seat and I glare out the window at the wretched people, walking to and fro, like a person isn't being treated like swine, merely feet away from them. My tears are once again dried up and I can see black streaks down my cheeks in the reflection of the tinted window. The black suit who carried me on his shoulder only moments ago bows to this new master of mine, who then turns and walks around to the other side of the car, settling into the seat beside me. The door closes with a thud on his side too, and the car begins to drive. I can feel the man's eyes on me but I have no more energy left to fight. There's no will left in my weakened, starved body. I dare not look back at him, preferring to travel in silence. Instead, I watch the road, trying to take my mind elsewhere

Two identical black cars pull up behind the one I'm still sitting in, and more men in black suits get out of them. Like ducks in a row, they stop in front of my master and bow. This time, I recognize one of the faces. The one who had carried me over his shoulder appears at my door. I let out a yelp as he grabs me by the hips, pulling me so hard that I fall onto my back. With my legs bent at the knees, my feet drop and slam to the ground. What is he doing now? This can't be good! I gasp in shock when I see him start to pull out a folding knife, and I dig my nails into the leather of the seat when he whips it open. Do I scream? Am I about to lose my clothing again? Anything but that, not in front of al these people! I'll just drop dead of shame if every one of them bears witness to my humiliation. Suddenly, I feel a warm touch above my right knee. My master bends down to meet my gaze. "Are you going to be good?", he asks me. Nodding my head vigorously, I reply, "Yes Master!"

Micro... Micro means something very small. Chip? I vaguely recall my master mentioning something about his company making them, but I don't understand the concept, so I nod my head, 'No'. She digs in her case and pulls out a plastic tube with a needle at the end. It's sealed in a plastic wrapper with a white paper backing. Walking over to me, she lays it on the bed and I sit up, pulling the blanket tightly around my chest. I scan the packaging with my eyes for a moment, before looking at the words. "Micro-Claim" I read aloud. "Legally Acquired Slave Identification Device". "This is a microchip. We call them LASIDs, for short. Until recently, we used to brand slaves with a tattoo.", she begins. "But in the cases where they escaped, it was difficult to track them down. It was a dangerous game of cat and mouse. Trackers sometimes resold the slaves or held them for ransom. It often didn't end well. Zion, I mean your master's company came up with a way to both mark and track slaves, a