Page 16 of Sold to the Nalgar
The corridor was seamless metal, stretching endlessly. No doors, no windows. The lights pulsed faintly overhead, slow and unnerving.
They stopped at a new room.
This one was wider. Colder. Sterile.
The antiseptic scent hit her like a fist. Hospitals. Surgeries. Things taken without permission. Her fists clenched.
The tall creature stepped behind her.
She entered.
The walls were white, gleaming. In the center stood a smooth, curved platform—something designed for her. The lights were bright, too bright.
She turned to the alien.
“They will arrive soon,” he said, the stone in his hand glowing faintly.
Her stomach dropped.
“You must be prepared for his viewing.”
“His… what?”
“The warlord. His standards are exacting.”
Terror rose like a cold tide.Viewing? Like merchandise? Fuck you.
The helmeted figures advanced.
“What is this?” she demanded, voice cracking. “What are you going to do?”
No answer.
The lights sharpened.
They reached for her robe.
She froze as it parted under their hands, sliding away as though designed to fall apart with a touch.
“No! Wait…” she whispered.
They didn’t wait.
The robe. The slippers. Even the thin alien undergarments. Gone.
She stood naked, trembling, arms wrapping around herself as humiliation and fury warred inside her.
But they didn’t stare. Didn’t leer.
They didn’t see a woman. Just… an object.
This was worse.
The alien pointed to a second doorway.
“Go.”
She followed his finger. A circular chamber lined with coils and vents.
