A man chooses. A slave obeys.

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The screaming and the pounding of the frightened slaves rang through the night as the armored caravan drove along the dusty road of the wasteland. The captives were crying out for someone to come and help them, but a that time of day no one would be able to hear them what with the rain pounding on the windows of their shacks and all. The hostages were stuck there, being tortured by a tall, muscular man in a black gas mask whenever they would try to escape. They had been travelling for days, ever day a new slaver coming in to survey them. But they had never stopped, not even once in their journey to what seemed like nowhere, making the trip pointless. At night when the men left them some privacy the would share their theories of where they where being taken and why. One night, a slave claimed he overheard two of the men talking about the coordinates of the of location they were heading to.

"...which is Las Vegas, Nevada. If my calculations are correct, we are about twenty miles north of it. And so I calculated our distance; if we continue on the path we're travelling on, without stopping, we'll get there in approximately three days, four days top. Hopefully they'll let us go. But I think we all know that won't be happening, so I've made a plan. When we get there, they'll stop, and we tip the caravan over, and escape." Hark, a tall, scruffy, intelligent man explained to his friends. Hark was the brains of the small group and got along with everyone. He claimed to have a family, and said he missed them dearly. He swore he could hear the plead of his eighteen year old son for him to return. But he was never blue, even though he was usually the victim that got beaten the most.

"That's very nice. But how can you be so sure that they were not just setting us up? What if they got into that conversation to confuse about everything, to lead us off track so we can all get confused? Huh, what will we do then?" John asked, the emotions that could be seen in his eyes determined he knew what he was talking about. Unfortunately, he was very stubborn. When he went with something, he never stopped following it. If someone proved him wrong, he would make an excuse to hide his shame. And that often led to arguments about how he was wrong and stupid, which he found very rude. And this was one of those times.

"They have no idea that we've been trying to figure out what has been going on. They don't see us when we eavesdrop on them or when we plan an escape. Even if they did know and they were doing what you just said they were doing, why would try to confuse about the destination? I mean seriously, how does it matter?" Hark remarked. John glared at him for an awfully long time, and the group prepared to hold him back. But John did nothing. He turned away, picked up the cup of hot cocoa the slavers had given them, and took a sip.

"You know, Hark, you're right. You're aways right. I can't believe I hadn't realized it sooner, but my ignorance was like a cloud of fog blocking my view. I couldn't understand you before, but now I do. You're a very smart man, you know that?" he paused to take another sip from the boiling cup of hot chocolate and put it back on the counter. "We should follow your plan, it'll work perfectly like very other plan you've made throughout your life. Right everybody?" No one said anything but they all stared at him. "Well, they seem to disagree, Hark," he grabbed the cup again, took a sip, and closed his eyes. Everyone sighed, glad the conversation had ended. Neither one of the captives spoke, most of them fell asleep shortly after. But Marianne and Hark stood up, Hark making up a new plan, and Marianne watching him.

"Hark, don't let him manipulate you, he's just trying to make you lose your sanity. He's already done it to most of us in this short time span, it won't take long for him to get to you. You're smarter than him and he knows it, but like everything else, he can't admit it," she scoffed at him. But he continued working on the escape, pretending to not listen to her ramble. But he knew she had a point, but like John, decided not to admit it. "...your earlier plan was phenomenal, it could never fail, you don't have to make another one because John doesn't approve of it," Marianne tried to convince him to give in, but he didn't pay attention. "Please! Listen to me! He's trying to fool you!"

"I know, Marianne. You've told me a hundred times, I understand. But please, have sympathy for the man, he doesn't know what he's blabbering about. He has a mental issue, most probably. It's not nice to tease those who are ignorant, but to help him. He wants a new plan, I'll give him one. One that's sure to fail-" he turned his head and smiled at her, "-if he's happy, I'm happy," He turned back to his work while Marianne lay to sleep on the harsh, wooden floor.

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The Next Morning...

The next morning, when the crew woke up, bright sunshine shone through the windows that the glass were replaced by steel bars. In a matter of hours, each captive yawned, stretched, and started pvssyring. Surprisingly, no man was there to watch over them, unlike the other days where a slaver would appear suddenly when dawn began. They took advantage of the situation and did things that would usually be punished for, such as talk all at once and screaming. The slavers didn't seem to be paying attention. Everyone was confused, until they realized one important but small detail: the caravan was motionless. John couldn't believe it. He went over to the steel bars closest to him and look out in to the wasteland. There was no one to be seen. Everybody was excited and pumped until Hark spotted two medium-height, but muscular men near four corpses.

"Guys...I think matters have just gotten worse," he signaled for the group to see what he was talking about. John looked at the crowd strangely, wondering what the fuss was about. He stood up, walked over to the window while pushing some people out of the way, and peered outside. His eyes widened, as if he knew who they were. He stared at the two men, as they carried their luggage onto the caravan horse and hid the bodies behind a general store nearby. It seemed the slavers had stopped to shop when they were shot down. That was the only explanation. But, like everything else, John didn't seem to think so.

"Looks like they traded the caravan to some bandits. Greedy bastards," he sighed, went back to his spot, and slumped down onto the floor. Everybody was astonished at his reaction, they didn't think he was that stupid. But it turns out he was. They all turned away from the window and sat at their spots; someone was bound to check the basket. They said nothing, but Marianne still had her jaw down. She walked over to John and he glance at her, as if thinking Why is she here?

"Didn't you see the corpses, you idiot? They killed them! They're all dead!" she shouted in his face, and he laughed, as if he just heard a hilarious joke. He continued chuckling until he thought up a good comeback. He stopped snickering and then spoke.

"Oh, I'm sorry, no I didn't. I didn't see them, please excuse me for my ignorance!" he laughed and laughed, and never stopped.

"What are you laughing about, fool? You'll draw their attention!"

"That! Fool! Idiot! Ha ha ha ha, you crack me up, you know that? You should become a comedian," John's giggling faded away after a while, somehow it didn't attract the new slaver's attention, as if they knew his voice, his laugh. Suddenly, the caravan jolted into movement, faster than the other slavers went. Hark's face went pale, his terrible plan would now be worse than before. Marianne knew what he was thinking, but thought it was better that way. She went over to him, her every step a stomp on the wooden floor. She sat down next to Hark and whispered in his ear.

"I think it's time to tell him," she told him. Hark looked over to her, taking his attention off his thoughts. His eyes were wide open, thinking Is she crazy?

"We'll kill ourselves! The momentum and speed of the caravan would flip us up and we'd crash into the hard rock ground, the impact of our accident would then toss us up and the impact of the second crash would blast off the walls and we'd all fall a large height into the Earth's surface head first, killing us all!" Hark explained.

"You need to make another plan then," she said. He stared at her, and sighed.

"No, I'm not making another plan. When we stop, we make a move. It's risky, but worth a try. The worst thing that could happen is...well...let's think on the bright side here," he told her.

"How will we know what to do?" she asked.

"We won't. We'll improvise,"

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Two Hours Later...

The caravan skidded to a stop, and it woke Hark, Marianne and John. Hark looked out the window and saw a huge slave camp, crowded with poor people without clothes, food and a home. The slave pens were full of torn newspapers, God knows how old. It looked like one of those camps in a horror movie, where the campers mysteriously disappeared during the night. A terror camp. Hark turned to Marianne, who was wondering what he was looking at. He whispered to her.

"It's a camp. A slave camp. Look," he stood up quietly, giving her his spot to look out his window. She stared at it for a while, until she saw the two capturers walk towards them. When she caught the first glimpse of one of their arms, she turned away faster than you could say "Imagination," Wait, no. Faster than you can say "Moo,"

The doors swung open, and the two capturers glazed into the large space. They looked at all their faces, one by one, except John's. After a few seconds, they gestured for John to follow them out. He hoped out the back of basket. He grinned at Hark and grabbed him by the arm. Hark pulled back, but the other two men pulled on his arm. They dragged him out and he hit the floor with a hard thud. They pulled him up on his feet. Hark smiled, and circled him, laughing maniacally. He dug into his pocket and pulled out a revolver.

"Oh, Hark. You're a very smart man, seriously. You've had a very successful life, you know? A family, a great job, and a good education. I wish I had you're life. I'm not too far from having it, you know. Being a smart ass has some consequences-" he kicked him to the ground, "-too bad you didn't realize that before," He cocked his gun, pointed it at Hark and fired it.