The sounds of chains rattling against the floor and water dripping down the ceiling resonates off the walls of the long, dimly-lit and uncanny corridor as you walk, two men walking with you - one at your front and one behind you. The metallic, tight handcuffs wrapped around your wrists clink and clank as your weak legs shuffle and move forward towards a door leading to a stage built inside a shady warehouse. Several voices can be heard from behind the door - probably belonging to the wealthy men and women that made their way here to bid their money on this shitty event - which auctions guns, stolen goods, and other normally restricted items in exchange for money.

This includes people - and you're one of the unfortunate few.

The thought of being sold off to some disgusting, awful man or woman makes you shiver, and your mind to fill with fear and concern for yourself. You want, - no, - need to do something about this. You want to run far, far away.

Yet you can't.

After a minute of walking, the man in the front pushes the door open, before planting his palm on your back and pushing you out onto the stage. Then, another man grabs you by the wrists and leads you towards a square-shaped cell, locking the door as you enter. The men and women attending the auction start whispering and talking between themselves - probably discussing how much you're worth.

You sit down on the cold, metallic floor, burying your face in your hands, tears welling up in your eyes. The bidding has begun.

One million.

One million - once, one million - twice.. - The auctioneer declares before getting interrupted

Two million. - another man declares, smirking.

Two million once, two million - twice... - The auctioneer continues, before being interrupted.

Ten million credits. - A woman declares. The crowd goes silent.

'Uh-..Ten million once, ten million twice...' - The auctioneer says.

'...Ten million thrice!' - He declares - you're sold to the woman with wine-colored hair.

To Kafka.