There were no appliances. I grabbed my water bottle. The redhead set the plate aside and deftly twisted the lid, wincing in pain as the rope taut. I began to drink in greedy sips - it is necessary, before that I did not notice how strong the thirst was. Yes, the hunger was taking its toll. Putting down the bottle of water, she tried to scoop up the buckwheat with her fingers. Since they barely flexed, the attempt failed.

“Put your palms together,” the girl ordered, again picking up the plate by the edges. - Hold it at an angle, like you're drinking. It doesn't work otherwise, I've tried. By the way, my name is Lisa.

- Vika, - contempt for the girl receded under a wave of gratitude. True, the anxiety has not gone away. I threw back my head, letting the buckwheat fall into my mouth and onto my knees. Still warm, flavored with butter, the porridge seemed like a gastronomic masterpiece. It is not clear how much time has passed since I was dragged into the car and put to sleep with a smelly rag. With difficulty she restrained herself so as not to fill both cheeks.

The girls huddled against the walls, occasionally glancing at us. No one talked or tried to stray into groups. The first stage of breaking in action.

Where are we? I asked when all the porridge was eaten. Or rather, almost all, because part of it fell into the bosom and onto the dress. Lisa chuckled.

Looks like hell, baby.

How did she manage to joke in such a situation? For me it remains a mystery. After swallowing a few slices of tomato, I felt full. She looked at Lisa intently, trying to understand what she was like. Decoy duck? Provocateur? Applicant for pakhanshu in a cell of confinement? Or maybe the rebellious Monte Cristo?

A blouse with a vulgar neckline and an abundance of lurex, jeans with rhinestones. Things are not of the best quality, obviously from the Chinese market. Blue shadows and a thick layer of mascara, crumbling on the cheekbones, a trace of smeared pink lipstick on the face. An ordinary simpleton with a claim to a high level in the understanding of most visitors from the villages. Gray eyes look artlessly and at the same time somehow sharply, testing.

Yes, what is there to understand? They will sell us. Like cattle in the market. We got it, Vika...

It has already become clear to me without words that this is not a hostage-taking or an operation to identify criminals. All the girls were young and pretty, slender, pretty, for every taste. It got cold inside. I have seen similar stories on TV. I saw enough to understand: only a few escape from this, if you're lucky ...

So how are you here? Is it also a modeling business? Promised catwalks next to Naomi Campbell and the cover of a magazine?

I shook my head. Alas, everything was confused. Work abroad or in the modeling field could only lure spineless fools. I didn't feel like that.

I shouldn't have been here at all.

Lizka pushed me on the shoulder.

And who should, f**k?

Suddenly, one of the girls screamed hoarsely, extinguishing the conflict in the bud. We simultaneously turned our heads in her direction, watching how she, still very young, looking like a schoolgirl, brought her bound hands to her neck, trying to stop the choking attack. His face flushed, his eyes rolled back. The girl gasped. And no one doubted that this is not a simulation, everything happens in reality.

"In...a.. op..." she croaked, falling to her knees, unable to keep her balance. But no one helped her. The girls only pressed against the wall in fear and averted their eyes.

Silly, isn't it? muttered Lizka.

I understood everything literally in the first minutes.

She has asthma. Need an inhaler. Damn, call someone, they'll die, they'll suffocate!

Lisa looked at me as if I were crazy, and even moved away.

Greyhound? Call yourself!

It seems that no one wanted to repeat the fate of a blonde with tattoos. None of the girls approached the panting companion, each looking away as if that might make her the next victim. If we had left our bags, I would have tried to find an inhaler, but all personal belongings were taken away. Forgetting completely about the frightened chickens, which were so easy to turn into cowards, I opened my mouth and screamed piercingly:

For help! The girl is bad!

My scream had the effect of an exploding bomb. The girls comically raised their bound hands, trying to cover their ears, crawling away from the asthmatic. And at that moment I didn’t think that for disturbing the peace they could beat me and let me go in a circle. I simply understood: if a person dies before my eyes - just because I didn’t have the courage to save him, I won’t be able to live with it.

We didn't have to wait long. The clatter of feet, the clanging of bolts, the creak of unoiled hinges—three men in balaclavas burst into the cell. The girls with screams shied away to the walls - someone running away, someone crawling. The strongest of the Cerberus approached the panting girl, brandished his club - but his hand froze. In time, he examined the crimson face and the rolled eyes of the captive.

To her Sklifa. Instantly, freaks! It's on special order.

I watched as two guards lifted it, not with a jerk, but carefully, as if they were afraid of breaking it. The girl herself could not walk - she wheezed, unable to cope with an attack of suffocation. Then someone simply picked her up and hurriedly carried her away. Such caution baffled me, especially after the abuse of the blonde.

Who yelled, creatures? the gorilla inquired almost affectionately, playing with his club.