The last thing Rex remembered about his childhood was the warmth of his mother’s embrace and the soft lullaby she used to hum. But that memory had long faded into the shadows of his current reality—chains, cold floors, and the cruel laughter of men who saw him as nothing more than a product to be sold.
He was barely eight when it happened. His parents were struggling, barely able to feed themselves, let alone him. So when a man in a sharp suit approached his father with an offer, Rex didn’t understand what was happening. He only knew that his father looked away in shame as coins exchanged hands.
That was the last time he saw his family.
Rex was thrown into the back of a truck filled with other children, their faces stained with tears, their bodies too weak to fight back. The air smelled of rust and despair. No one spoke. They knew it was pointless.
When the truck stopped, they were dragged out and lined up like animals at an auction. A crowd of men and women examined them, checking their arms, their teeth, their eyes. Rex’s small body trembled, but he bit his lip, refusing to cry. He had already learned that tears wouldn’t change anything.
That’s when he first saw Mr. Fred.
A tall man with a calculating gaze, Mr. Fred walked through the rows of children, pausing occasionally. When he reached Rex, he knelt down, grabbing his chin roughly.
“This one’s got fire in his eyes,” he said, smirking. “He’ll last.”
And just like that, Rex’s fate was sealed.
He was taken to a massive estate, far from the city, where the air smelled of sweat and suffering. The other kids who had been bought with him disappeared, assigned to different tasks. Some were sent to the kitchens, others to the fields. Rex, however, was placed under Williams.
Williams was Mr. Fred’s right-hand man, and he was ruthless.
“Listen up, kid,” Williams sneered on Rex’s first day. “You do as I say, when I say it. No back talk, no mistakes, or you’ll wish you were never born.”
Rex quickly learned that Williams meant every word.
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