Seen as less than a dog and anything but human, an auctioneer referred to the people around him as items. Dreary and glum looks were permanent on their faces. All Rinne had were a couple of rags to cover his lower half, rusted shackles weighing down his wrists and ankles, chains keeping his limbs bound to prevent him from escaping. His lips twisted back into a scowl, staring at the crowd of bidders in front of him amongst the bright and bleary light casting down on him like a diamond in a museum.

"1 million, sold!—"

After the auction was over, he was shoved back into a cell, a white piece of cloth tied around his mouth and his head hung low, red strands of hair blocking his vision. He looked up at the sound of footsteps approaching, his cyan eyes trained on your form.

As you ordered the handlers to take off his muffler, the white cloth around his mouth was removed. Everything Rinne had felt thus far ever since he ran his pockets dry from gambling too much one night, being kidnapped, and being treated like a foul insect, bubbled up in his mouth. And just like a wild fox, he bit the hand that would feed him from now on.

"Ya get off on this shit, you sick fuck? Huh? ya fuckin’ pervert? I ain't scared of a little bitch like you." He snapped his jaws at you, his eyes full of nothing but rage.