Grey slowly opened his eyes, feeling a stinging pain in his cheeks.
The first things he saw were massive figures towering over him like mountains. They seemed like giants; to see them properly, he would have to crane his neck until it snapped.
Grey 's heart hammered in alarm as he lowered his gaze to his hands.
He saw thin fingers with only a few callouses and scars. These fingers were vastly different from his own. He stared in horror at the small, practically childlike palms as the terrifying reality crashed down on him—he really had become a child.
Up until this moment, he had tried everything to deny such a possibility. What sane person would believe such nonsense?
He had chalked up the environmental anomalies to a trick of his own imagination. Now, however, the undeniable proof was right in front of him.
"What is this nonsense? It's some kind of nightmare. Right, I must be dreaming. I drank too much, hit my head, and now I'm having a lucid dream. That's it! What else could it be?"
With this newfound understanding, Grey looked around with interest, trying to assess the situation and find confirmation for his new theory.
He found himself in a large, poorly lit room resembling a warehouse. Rows of metal cages of various sizes stretched along the walls. There were people in the cages... Slaves, to be precise.
Thin, exhausted figures with sunken cheeks and dull eyes. Their skin was covered in dirt and bruises. Some were dressed in rags, while others were almost completely naked.
Among the captives were people of different builds, ages, and, it seemed, different races. Grey noticed tall, tanned men with goat-like horns sitting next to dark-skinned women whose bodies were covered in intricate tattoos.
In one of the cages, he saw a creature that could hardly be called humanoid—with swamp-colored skin, an disproportionately long nose, and large, slanted eyes.
The air around him was filled with the smell of sweat and filth.
Desperate sobs and pained groans echoed in the darkness.
Grey felt nausea rising in his throat.
This was worse than any nightmare he could have imagined. Too real, too detailed.
He looked again at his captors, who now seemed even more terrifying.
"Well, kid, ready for your new life?" one of them sneered, baring a row of yellow teeth.
Grey stayed rooted to the spot, ignoring everything around him. His mind frantically tried to analyze and piece the facts together.
No one cared about his strange reaction.
They placed him on a small platform marked with strange symbols that looked like a mix of cuneiform, runes, or perhaps hieroglyphs.
A stout merchant in a peculiar outfit stepped out from behind the bandits and walked straight up to him. Heavy breathing and the stench of sweat filled the space around Grey .
Without a single word, the man began a methodical inspection.
Grey tried to pull away when the greasy fingers touched his face, but he remained frozen against his own will. He felt like a prisoner not only in this strange place, but in his own body. He could only stand there, watching helplessly as the merchant unceremoniously examined his physical form.
Having his eyelids pulled back was especially unpleasant. Grey felt the coarse fingers touching his eyes. He wanted to scream, but not a single sound escaped his throat.
The teeth check was humiliating. The merchant pried his lips apart, inspecting every tooth as if he were a horse at an auction.
When his clothes were stripped off, Grey felt a surge of shame and anger. He tried to resist, if only mentally, but his body remained obedient and still.
Sweaty hands felt every muscle, every joint.
He felt disgust and helplessness. He wanted to shove those hands away, run, scream, call the police, but he could do nothing.
When the inspection ended, Grey felt some relief, but it was quickly replaced by a fresh wave of fear.
What kind of strange nightmare was this? What would happen next? Where would they take him? And most importantly—how could he get out of this nightmare when he couldn't even control his own body?
The merchant ignored the boy and turned to the bandits.
"Twenty coppers and not a coin more. I thought you had good stock, but what is this trash? You've just wasted my time."
"How can you say that, Mr. Harmon? Look at his face! He'll grow up to be an incomparable playboy. Any brothel for women would snatch him up in a heartbeat."
"Then go offer him to a brothel! Why the hell did you drag him to me? We're on Pratos! Warriors are what's valued here! Who needs a useless gigolo? And besides, when will that even be? Do you know how much food he'll scarf down before he grows up and can actually use his tool? Twenty coppers! I won't give a bit more!"
"Mr. Harmon, but couldn't you train him to be a warrior?"
"Dammit, do you take me for a total idiot?! Make him a warrior?! He's a fucking cripple with no power. Not a core, not a speck of mana! And his body? Look at him! Skin and bones. Fine, to hell with you, I'll give you twenty-five. Do we have a deal? Or you can take him and show him around as much as your heart desires. I'm not the only slave trader here, but I guarantee no one will give you more! Don't come crawling back to me after that!" Mr. Harmon roared, spraying spit right into the burly leader's face.
Listening to their bickering, Grey felt a humiliation unlike anything he had ever known.
The slave trader's words echoed in his head, each one like a whip-crack against his dignity.
He didn't even register words like "mana" or "core." They had inspected him like an animal and were now haggling over a mere five coppers. Although Grey didn't know the local exchange rate, he was certain the amount was pathetic.
Shame, rage, and helplessness washed over him in waves.
It was impossible to distance himself from the situation. Even his belief that this was just a nightmare shattered completely. The sensations were too real, and the environment too detailed.
Dreams like this didn't exist.
Involuntarily, he thought of his mother, and tears welled up in his eyes. To his sense of despair were added loneliness, longing, and guilt.
The bandits and Harmon shook hands after a brief squabble, sealing the deal. Grey felt two thugs grab him roughly by the shoulders and haul him away.
He didn't resist—there was no point.
What could he do? Kick and scream?
He didn't want them to knock him out again.
Grey was led down a dark corridor lit by sparse torches on the walls. The air grew increasingly stale and damp as they descended deeper.
Rows of cages stretched along both sides of the passage.
Grey tried not to look at the occupants, but he couldn't help noticing the figures flickering in the gloom. There were people of all ages and genders here. Some sat pressed against the bars, while others lay curled up in the corners of their cramped cells.
Occasionally, his gaze caught details that made his heart sink: emaciated faces, lifeless eyes, marks from beatings. The sounds were no less disturbing—muffled sobs, quiet groans, the clinking of chains. Somewhere in the distance, screams echoed, sending a chill down his spine.
They passed several guards armed with swords and clubs. They looked coarse and ruthless, their eyes sliding over the captives without a hint of sympathy.
Finally, they stopped in front of one of the iron bars deep within the room.
One of the thugs pulled out a ring of keys and unlocked the door. Grey was shoved roughly inside, and the door slammed shut with a clang.
Only then did he notice that he wasn't alone in the cage.
Two girls, similar to him in build, sat huddled into small balls in the corner, barely noticeable.
One of them caught his attention with long rabbit ears that twitched nervously.
The second had small, sharp horns on her head, and a thin tail peeked out from under her dress.
"A succubus," Grey recalled from fantasy novels he had once read.
The girls didn't react to his arrival. They just sat curled up with hollow eyes and trembling bodies.
He didn't want to say anything either. He frantically turned over the situation he had landed in.
'A gigolo? Really? Ahahaha, dammit, what irony! So this is the fate of the playboy and philanthropist from the cover of GQ.'
He sank to the floor, leaning his back against the bars. His mind was in total turmoil.
What was happening? Had he died? Maybe this was all some strange afterlife? Had he somehow ended up in another world, like the protagonists in those books?
Thoughts of his mother pierced his heart with sharp pain. Where was she now? Did she know what had happened to him?
Though he tried to think rationally and calmly, every time he remembered his mother, tears involuntarily welled up in his eyes.
Who else would miss him? Maybe his friends?
A bitter smirk appeared on Grey 's face. He didn't have any real friends. All the people who had surrounded him after he acquired his wealth were just parasites, interested only in his money and influence.
Grey 's thoughts suddenly shifted to Bella. His heart tightened at the memory of the girl he had left behind in pursuit of a long-held dream.
Bella, his childhood friend, his first love, and the only person besides his mother who might actually miss him.
He remembered her smile, the warmth in her eyes, and how she had always supported him during their school years. He felt a sharp pang of regret.
If only he hadn't been so emotional that day. If only he had stood his ground and taken her with him when he left...
Perhaps everything would have turned out differently?
Bella had always been his moral compass, his anchor. Maybe with her by his side, he wouldn't have fallen so low? Wouldn't have drowned in endless parties, alcohol, and hollow relationships? Maybe she could have kept him from that fateful night that led him to this strange world?
He closed his eyes, imagining how their life together could have unfolded.
A cozy home instead of a cold mansion, warm evenings spent talking instead of noisy parties, true love instead of empty flings.
Right now, it felt like he deserved his miserable end. But at the same time, memories of the gentle girl who had been stubborn enough to stay in the world of gray apartment blocks instead of colorful Los Angeles stirred a new emotion in him.
An emotion of rage and ambition.
"I'm not giving up, damn it! I won't! I'm not becoming some gigolo! I crawled out of the mud once before. Is there really any reason I can't do it again?! Yeah, maybe I lost my way a little. Но I'm not lost! My dream isn't just some empty noise!
I don't give a damn about the rest of the world; it can go to hell for all I care! I'll do things my way!
Sold into slavery? What a joke. Who do they think I am? I'm a modern man with a wealth of knowledge and experience. If I can't escape with all these advantages, I might as well have died in a ditch!"
The thought ignited a fire in him that he hadn't felt in a long time. The ambition that had once led him to success was waking up again, but now it was directed toward survival. For his mother, for his own life, he would do everything he could.
Maybe. Just maybe. If there was even the slightest chance of getting back, he would claw at it with his hands, his nails, and even his teeth.
And this time, he would do everything right.
Grey straightened up, his gaze turning cold and hard. His situation seemed completely hopeless, but he refused to accept that fact as his reality.
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