Nipp and Gina stood before Michael, their benefactor. Their hands and legs bounded by rope. The old man looked piss as hell. Or maybe that was how his face was, Nipp assumed. Apart from his marvelous violet eyes, Michael's wrinkles made him look like a grumpy cat.

Not able to hold it in for any longer, Nipp started laughing.

"What's funny?" Michael asked, not amused. 

"Your face," Nipp said. "You're pale and so old." He leaned his mouth on his shoulder, muffling his laugh.

Gina, still high, began laughing too. "He looks like a wrinkled ass," she said, making Nipp laugh even harder.

Michael turned to the two cyborgs beside him. "What's wrong with them?" 

"They are high, Sir," one of the guards said, then handed the old man a transparent tablet. A projected screen appeared, showing the two teenagers smoking a joint. 

"Where did they get it from?" He gazed at the guard, annoyed. When the guard struggled to put his words together, Michael shouted, "Tell me!"

The guard stood at attention, his arms glued to his side and face looking away from the old man. "It was under her breast, Sir!"

"And why didn't you check her there when we brought them in?"

"I thought it was inappropriate."

"There's nothing inappropriate, we own her now. We can do whatever we like with her."

"Really?" The guard smirked.

"Is that the reason you brought them to me? I only requested for one of the kids."

"They will only cause more trouble if we leave them in there, Sir. You have take them both to the place you took the others. Two is better than one anyway, Sir."

Michael looked at Nipp and Gina, then looked back at the guard. "The status of the first boy is unknown, and the second is barely surviving. Maybe it wouldn't harm me if I took two this time. It might play in my favor."

"Why do they call you Sir? You're not British. Since when do Americans get that title?" Gina asked out of the blue.

"He gave it to himself," Nipp said.

"It doesn't matter if I was given the title or not, that's not the reason you're here." Michael stood up. "I hope the two of you are fast enough to see through it."

"See through what old man, are you losing your mind?" Nipp said.

Michael smirked. "Maybe, but where you're going, you'll need all the speed you have to survive. Take them to the car."

The guard hesitated for a minute, thinking about what he was going to say. "Sir, can I have a few minutes with her, before she leaves?" he asked.

"Ew!" Gina shuddered in disgust, trying to get away from him. But he held her in place.

Michael thought about it. "You can have one of the other girls, I need this one to be in her right mind."

"Alright, thank you, Sir." He smiled, pushing Gina and Nipp to move on.

<+>

"Do you think being a colored person is a curse?" Gomez asked, before taking a bite out of the piece of bread he held. Him and Romeo were in a large cafeteria. The two of them sat alone at a table that could occupy six.

"One would think that way, but I think we're just on the wrong side of luck. I mean, yes, as colored people we're more likely to live a life of consuming wages below the minimum requirement and also face more adversity than whites, but let us not forget there are white people who are suffering just like us." Romeo took a sip of water from his metal cup. "But do you know the difference between us and them?"

"No."

"When they are faced with a problem or a challenge, they tend to deal with it head-on, unlike us. We opt to try and deal with our challenges by words. We can't always complain about a problem, we need to act on it, and protests aren't a better form of action."

"I can't disagree there."

Romeo gazed around. "Slavery occurring twice and we're the ones affected most... again. Maybe we are cursed."

Gomez laughed. "I have an idea. Let's ask a white person's perspective on the whole N-word issue."

"Now that I would love to hear." Romeo looked at the two old men who were threatened by the Russian guy. "What about them?" He pointed at the two.

"Lets go." Gomez took his plate.

The old men were in mid conversation when Romeo and Gomez sat at their table. They looked surprised that anyone would want to sit with them. After the incident they had with the Russian, people barely spoke to them, afraid that they to would be marked by the big guy come the tournament.

"How may we help you?" the American asked.

"Your names first," Gomez insisted.

"I'm Bob, and he's Harry," he said. The English man just grinned.

"I'm Gomez, and this is Romeo."

"How may we help you?" Bob asked again.

"How do you feel about the use of the N-word?" Gomez asked.

"Woah, you kids are touching a sensitive subject there," Bob said.

"Yes, that's why we're asking. I feel like if the two us talk about it alone, we may be biased."

"True, what do you say?" Bob turned to Harry, his green eyes locked on him.

"How may we help you?" Harry asked.

"Sorry, he sometimes experiences memory loss." Bob took a pill from his pocket and gave it to Harry, who consumed it with the help of the water in his cup.

"If they find out he has memory loss, they'll kill him," Gomez informed Bob.

"Have people already been killed here? I came late," Romeo said.

"Yes, I've seen it with my own eyes. When they realize you're sick, they come during the night and take you away. So far, I've witnessed twenty people being taken and none have come back."

"Please, don't tell anyone about Harry's condition," Bob pleaded.

"We won't," Romeo replied.

"What is that you asked earlier?" Harry asked, now in his right mind.

"Your opinions on the use of the N-word," Gomez responded.

"You might not agree with me, but til' this day white people are still feeling the effects of the first slave trade," Bob said.

"What are you talking about?" Gomez seemed confused.

"We still pay the price of it all. Everyday we are reminded of what we did," Harry said.

"And what did your people do?" Romeo asked, seeming less confused than Gomez.

"We are the ones who began using the N-word, then your kind took over it," Harry said.

"Precisely," Bob agreed.

My kind? Romeo cocked his head to the side.

"The N-word is used by black people to remind you of what your people did to them," Gomez said.

"But that's not a solid reason as to why you can say it, and I can't. What right does a Mexican like you have over me? You're closer to being white than black," Bob stated.

"Who said I can say it?" Gomez said.

Gomez and Romeo gave each other a brief glance. "So what are you trying to say?" Romeo asked.

"What he means to say is that, it's not fair to us that we can't even sing the N-word when it's being said in a song," Harry said.

He sure knows how to use his big mouth when he is on his medication, Romeo thought.

"Took the words right out of my mouth." Bob looked at his friend, smiling, before he turned to the two boys. "I just want to sing it, even once," he said.

Romeo stood up. Looking at the two, he asked, "If you could say the N-word without repercussions, would you say it?"

"Yes," Bob replied. "When I see you, I want to say, 'Hey, what's up my Nig-'"

Romeo slapped him, before he could finish. "Pray we do not meet when the tournament starts." He walked away.

Gomez sighed. "And I felt sorry for you two when the Russian confronted you." He got up and left too.