As I come out into the open, more than one blurry silhouette comes into view. I do a quick scan and count. Six handlers, Wayler, and two more Drecks. The three of us have been chained together.

That's my first clue that this isn't a family visit. Why would my parents want to see other Drecks? I doubt they could even stand to see me.

I rub my face on my shoulder to try and wake my eyes up. An elbow in my ribcage startles me, and I whine as I edge away from the source.

"Woah, Cani. Watch it."

The soft voice sends my body to an edge of comfort on the ledge I reside on. I look at the only person who ever calls me by my name, but I do so out of the corner of my eye so the handlers won't see. Fell smirks at me. How he talks sometimes without opening his mouth confuses me. It must be the animal in him.

Like me, he looks like he's seen better days. His tan hair lies plastered to his forehead by sweat, which combines with a layer of dust to make it look like he's bleeding dirt. His sharp, yellow eyes look past me, towards the black car that's pulling into the driveway.

Behind Fell stands Arc, who looks more confused than anyone else. His furry forehead is furrowed into canyon folds, so thick that they're shading his eyes. He watches the black vehicle too, but his deep, brown eyes are fixed with a cautious curiosity. Is Arc here to be seen as well, or is he here to keep Fell and I under control?

Fell looks like he could honestly care less what's going on, as long as he gets to go back to sleep. I smile at him and then turn back to the front of our convoy to watch the same subject that they are.

Two humans wearing black suits get out of the long car. The first, who was driving, crosses to the passenger side of the car to stand beside the other. Both of them have long hair pulled into sloppy buns; both are built about the same—muscular but not a showy sort like some of the handlers at the Estate. Each of them have matching black sunglasses, slim earpieces attached to their heads, and a patch on the left side of their chest. It's a red and blue feather, crossing over a white 'A'. They appear to be twins, except one of them has a long scar down the side of his or her face.

Scar leans towards the back passenger door and peeps in through a gap in through the window. No-Scar crosses their arms over their chest and stares at us, chewing on the side of their lip. I listen to Wayler breathing heavily where he stands to Arc's left. His foot taps against the floor. No one moves except for the back suited guests.

"Mr. Anderson wants you to dismiss your handlers now," Scar says from where they stand at the door. I squint in an effort to see through the gap, but it's useless. Nothing but a black wall greets me. The windows are too heavily tinted as well.

"Why would I need to do that?" Wayler snaps, his voice tense.

"Those were the terms of him agreeing to meet you." The person's voice is firm, void of emotion. "No handlers present."

"And what are you two?"

"I'm a guard. Not a handler."

Wayler scoffs, hesitating for a moment before he waves his hand. The handler holding our chain drops it, glares at the three of us, and then leaves. Five more follow him, leaving Wayler alone.

I glance at Fell, but he's already looking at me. A moment of agreement passes between us. This would be the perfect opportunity to take out Wayler. He never leaves us alone without a handler nearby, especially when there's more of us than him. Yet, there's Arc, and somehow, Arc is incredibly loyal to Wayler. The grizzly could easily knock Fell and I to the ground.

"They're gone," Wayler says shortly. "Tell your boss to stop hiding behind his guards and come out now."

"He isn't hiding," No-Scar says with a smile. "He's standing right in front of you."

Wayler looks around in confusion, but my eyes stay glued onto the guard. His smile pushes his sunglasses up on his nose. Slowly, as if revealing a piece of artwork, he takes his glasses off and folds them neatly. When he looks back up at us, I suck in a sharp breath. He has the iciest blue eyes I've ever seen, like they've been cut from a glacier.

"I like to speak to my clients and their Drecks without handlers present," the man says, extending a slender hand towards Wayler. "It keeps things authentic and removes fear from the equation."

Wayler blinks at him, and then, as if snapping to attention, he grabs the man's hand and shakes it violently. For a moment, I compare the two. Wayler's a foot shorter than the stranger and much wider. Where Wayler has white hair, Anderson boasts of a head full of tree-bark brown hair. It curls around his ears, and flyaways stick out at odd angles. My expert nose kicks in, picking out the more subtle differences.

This man doesn't smell like Wayler. Instead, I sense... mulch and animal fur. Trees and blooming flowers. Sweat and soap. How can someone smell clean but outdoorsy at the same time?

"These are my top Drecks," Wayler says, sweeping his hand towards us. First in line is Arc, who is staring down at Anderson with his lip snarled. "This is number sixty-four. He's the oldest Dreck I have, created when the program was still in its introductory stages. He's a veteran fighter and very well trained in behavioral techniques."

"I didn't request to see this one," Anderson says, looking Arc up and down, unfazed by the bear's piercing glare.

"No, but I assumed since you wanted to see them—" Wayler glances with disgust at Fell and I. "—that you would be interested in him."

"I'm not," Anderson said dismissively. "He's the very opposite of what I'm interested in." He stood directly in front of Arc and met his stare head on. "Tell me, Dreck, what's one thing you want in life?"

Arc blinks down at him, obviously lost for words. Why is a human asking a Dreck questions? We aren't allowed to speak. As if asking for permission, the bear looks at Wayler, who has gone pale in shock. He nods and Arc opens his mouth slowly.

"To win." After a moment he adds, "Sir."

Anderson's face screws up. "To win what though? The tournaments? The game of life? Happiness? A ticket to eternal life?"

"The tournaments." Arc's answer is firm and final.

"And therein lies the problem. If you have no motive, no drive, no desire outside of just winning, then you're nothing more than a machine." He turns and looks at Wayler. "Leave and take the bear with you."

"What? You can't be serious! Those two are killers, Anderson!"

Scar moves forward from where they had been standing and takes hold of our chain.

"I'm all the protection he needs," they say, in a voice that still doesn't tell me a gender.

"But to leave you alone with my merchandise! The idea is appalling!"

"Then I guess our deal isn't an option at all then." Anderson saunters towards the car. "Amelia, let's just get back in the car and leave. Wayler doesn't want our money."

Amelia drops the chain with a dramatic clang, removes her sunglasses, glares at Wayler, and goes to open her boss' door.

"Wait! No! I'm sorry. I'll leave."

Wayler grabs Arc's cuffs and detaches them from our chain. He hurriedly pulls Arc away, who goes without an argument.

Two questions hang like chandeliers over my head. One, what does this man have to offer that Wayler would bend all his rules to have, and two, how broken is Arc to answer to him so willingly? Even I fight back sometimes, and the man terrifies me to no end. Arc stands twice my height and weighs four times as much as I do. How can he listen to the munchkin like Wayler?

I glance at them as they leave, but someone picks my chain back up. As my head swings back around, I spot Amelia. A growl surfaces, and Fell's fur stands on end beside me.

"You have every right to be cautious," she says to the pair of us. "But I mean you no harm. Just listen to Zak."

How can she mean us no harm? She's a handler—no, a guard. More importantly she's a human, and humans mean trouble. Humans mean whips and starvation; they mean bloodshed and exhaustion.

But who is Zak? Anderson?

Anderson stands directly in front of the two of us, hands crossed over his chest.

"My name is Zakarius Anderson, but you're allowed to call me Zak. What are your names?"

The two of us look at one another.

"You can talk to me while he's not here," Zak says, answering the question we silently communicated to one another.

"Six thirty-two," Fell finally whispers, watching the man carefully. "And she's seven seventy-two."

I exhale lightly. It's a good thing Fell knows how terrified I am of speaking to humans. After what happened to me last night for just answering Wayler's question, my hands shake thinking about answering a stranger. Fell's more fearless than I am.

Suddenly, I feel a soft finger brush against the side of my hand. It hangs in a tight fist at my side; both of them do. A quick glance down reveals that Fell has opened his own fist and is offering his hand to me. He does this often in the pens, when no one is watching. It surprises me late at night after a dream or when I've returned from the Hole. He's always awake late, napping during the day and between meals—when we are actually fed. Fell is an unusual comfort, a candle in the middle of a universe of lonely, overwhelming darkness.

I slip my hand into his, and he clamps down. Relief washes over me; my body stops trembling.

"That's not what I meant," Anderson says. "Your preferred names. Not your ID numbers."

Fell is quiet for a long time. I stare at the chain but the humans' eyes burn into me. Finally, the cat sighs.

"I go by Fell." He leans towards me and whispers in my ear, "You should introduce yourself."

I shake my head violently.

"It's okay." The voice belongs to Anderson this time. He's leaning down in front of me, close to my face. I growl deep in my throat—a warning that should tell him to back up. Stay away from me. Yet, he doesn't budge. His summer sky eyes lock into my own, fearless. Undaunted.

This look is so different than the one Wayler always gives me in our stand-offs. Where I'm used to fiery hatred and disgust, Anderson looks at me with something different. A spark almost. He isn't scared of me, isn't grossed out by me, isn't thinking of all the things I could do for him. Instead, he's just patiently waiting for an answer. He's giving me space, respectfully adjusting his stance a step away from me.

How can a human respect my need for distance? How can a human respect any Dreck?

"Cani," I finally whisper, barely more than a breath of air.

"I didn't hear you," Anderson whispers back, leaning in more. He pauses afterwards, and I smell the anxiety on his person. He's not scared, but he is being careful. Smart.

"My name is Cani."

He smiles softly at me.

"That's a pretty name. It has a nice ring to it." He straightens up. "It's wonderful to meet you both. Has Wayler told you why I'm here?"

We both shake our heads.

"Well, I'm in the market to acquire more members of my team." He flashes his crest. "I come from a very prestigious group of Dreck trainers up north. We own five of the top ten fighters and would like to make it all ten.

"But I have a very unique way of purchasing Drecks. It's not a business deal to me. Instead, I offer you a choice: join my team or stay with Wayler."

Fell and I look at one another, but Anderson puts a hand out and interrupts.

"You will move up north with me to my home. There are five Drecks living there at the moment, but you still wouldn't be quite as crowded as you are now. You would have your own room, time to explore, a yard to roam in, and three meals a day, guaranteed."

The two of us gape at him. Guaranteed food? Our own room? An entire yard to roam in? It sounds like the equivalent to Dreck Heaven.

A nasty thought slips into my head.

"What's the catch?" I blurt, surprising even myself. Fell looks at me like he forgot I could actually talk. I shrivel back a few steps, waiting for the punishment to come down, for Anderson to lay me out with his gun or for Amelia to swing an open hand across my face.

Yet, nothing happens. The pair of them chuckle sadly.

"There's no catch, Cani," Anderson says. "Except that you still have to fight. You're champions, though, and will be treated as such."

I nod. Of course we would be expected to fight. That's what we were created for.

"I'll give you time to decide. After all, this is a big decision to make. A lifestyle change. You could want to—"

"We'll think about it," Fell snaps quickly, noticing that I had clamped down on his hand like a vice. I feel his heartbeat thumping in his palm and his sweat pooling up between our hands.

Who could say no? It's too good to be true, though. This can't be happening. Who treats their weapons with such kindness?

"Perfect!" He claps his hands together. "Any questions?"

We look at one another, and Fell nods.

"When would we leave?"

"As soon as you decide. I'll send Amelia down in two days to check on you."

"How long of a drive is it?"

"A day's drive and one flight."

Fell's face shifts into one of shock.

"It's illegal to passenger a Dreck by plane," he says, reading my mind.

"Not if you own your own plane," Amelia says with a smirk.

Fell goes silent, still in shock more than likely. Exactly how rich are these people?

"Do you have any questions, Cani?"

I look up at Anderson, eyes wide. A million different questions bounce like ping pong balls rattling around in my brain. At first, I don't know which to ask, but then I realize the same question keeps popping up. It's like a song stuck on a loop, over and over and over again. It edges to the end of my tongue and spills out of my mouth.

"Why us?"

Anderson and Amelia both smile. She pats him on the shoulder and walks to the driver side of the vehicle. Her body disappears, and the door shuts sharply. At once, the engine growls to life.

"Because you're young," he says softly. "You can still remember, if even faintly, what it felt like to be free. You're still individuals, and what the system has done to you is reversible. I can't fix the bear, but there's still hope for the two of you. You don't have to be monsters, Cani."

With that, he waves his hand towards the barn, and a swarm of handlers come out, surrounding Fell and I with chains and weapons once again. Our hands shoot apart, guarding various sensitive spots of our body.

Wayler bounds out of the crowd, glares at the two of us, then looks at Anderson.

"So? What do you think? Aren't they good specimens?"

Anderson glances at us out of the corner of his eye, smiling slightly. With a sigh, he claps a hand on Wayler's back.

"Truly fascinating, friend," he says happily, walking off towards the car. The handlers push us back towards the barn.

Over my shoulder I watch Amelia through the lowered window, a black box pressed against her ear. She waves at me. No human in their right mind would wave at me.

Something's going on. These two humans have to be insane. I'll figure it out, one way or another.