Superior America began a nation-wide campaign to gain public support for a war shortly afterward, and money poured itself into The Government’s coffers.

My parents could likely attest to that, being the proprietors of one of the leading weapons manufacturers of the decade. Not that I cared remotely, of course.

So when I opened my eyes to find myself lying on a blanket, very much alive with my hand neatly bound, it sufficed to say that I was a bit shocked.

Perhaps more than a bit shocked.

I sat up, looking around myself to see rotting wooden walls.

Wood? I was sure it had been made illegal just last year.

Unless...no. It couldn’t be.

The girl who had so rudely kidnapped me from my fortress of a house appeared in the doorway, spreading her arms in mock welcome.

“You’re in Inferior America now, your highness.”

She snickered and left the room, shutting and locking the door behind her.

I, on the other hand, couldn’t have been less uninterested in where she was going. Inferior America? The very idea disgusted me. Moments ago I had been safely in my own home, with my faithful automatons and cloned concubines.

And now I was who knew where as a hostage to some ruthless band of scum. I knew I should have invested in that new Securomaton model...

What puzzled me was how my parents didn’t notice all of the alarms that had been triggered. Perhaps they had gone on vacation. Why they hadn’t informed me of such plans was also another perplexing question on my mind.

Actually, there was no confusion surrounding that. I did as I pleased without saying a word to them, so it only made sense that they would do the same.

I almost regretted not speaking to them more. Only because it could have changed my predicament.

Before I knew what was happening I heard the high-pitched whine of tracking beams and high-voltage bullets being shot.

“Shit, shit, shit...” the same girl who had kidnapped me muttered, bursting through the door and putting a silver disc between her teeth.

Clear plastic instantly shot out of the disc and around her head, forming an airtight sheath that I knew from my parents’ discussions (which I had overheard as a child) to be a military-grade gas filter.

She procured another disc and shoved it unceremoniously into my mouth, not caring to notice that it was cutting into my gums as the mask hugged onto my face like some kind of horrific suffocation device.

At first I panicked and tried to claw it off but then the girl gestured for me to relax and air rushed into my lungs.

I gasped it in like I had never tasted it before, and was promptly thrown over her shoulder like a ragdoll as she ran out of the room.

The world whizzed by as I bounced, somewhat limply, against her back, my arms hanging down pathetically.

I did my best to try and remember what I was seeing – but soon enough the rotting wooden floors became hard-packed dirt and the dirt became the forest floor. It made no sense how easily and how quickly the terrorist was running with a weight like me on her back, or how she was managing to dodge the many rounds of ammunition flying in our direction.

For a brief moment I caught a glimpse of the Superior American crest on a drone and tried to call out, only to find that the mask was keeping any noise from leaving my lips.


As difficult as it was, I did my best to wave my arms around and catch the attention of the patrol vehicle, but a voice promptly broadcasted itself into my ears.

We’re both in a concealing zone, you idiot.

It was just then that I realized there was some kind of radio relay system built into the masks and that the air directly above us was pulsating with energy.

That, of course, meant that the drone only saw the trees and nothing else.

Where are you taking me? I managed to say into the disc, sounding muffled.

To hell. Where you belong.

The End

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