STRANDED

ELEVEN

Amy awoke to a loud bang. It was her cell door being thrown open by a soldier, which looked like a blurry mess of yellow and grey.

"Boss wants you," he said before walking in, followed by another soldier. They proceeded to grab Amy by both of her upper arms and drag her out of the cell. This jolted her awake, and she began to stand and walk with the soldiers. Once they stepped outside, Amy realized something odd. This was too early to be doing anything. Everybody was inside. What could Chervobskii want with her this early in the morning? The sun had barely even crawled out from under the horizon.

"Why does he want me this early?" Amy asked, struggling to keep up with the two men at either side of her.

"Why does it matter?" the man on her left said.

"We were given orders to bring you to the boss," the man on her right said, "not spoil the surprise."

They continued to take her to a clearing of sorts. Buildings all around the center formed a square, a town square of sorts. In the center sat a stage of sorts, covered by a roof held by four posts. Four lines of sidewalk led to each side of the stage, wrapping around its base.

"What is this?" Amy asked, frightened.

"It's your stage," one of the soldiers said. They brought her up to the stage and threw her up the steps onto it. She saw dozens of soldiers sitting in chairs arranged as if it were a theater. Amy was trembling. Their eyes didn't cease their gaze at her. It didn't take her long to realize what was about to happen. A voice confirmed her thoughts.

"Hello, everyone," a voice said through a megaphone. "Welcome to the morning show. We've picked a ripe one for today because after all, the early bird gets the worm." He seemed to snigger.

The soldiers kept their gaze. Amy eventually saw Chervobskii sitting in the front row. He seemed frustrated at the fact that Amy was just standing there, feeling sick to her stomach.

"Well?" Chervobskii shouted from the crowd. "Take it off!"

Amy felt her blood run cold. Her hands were shaky and sweaty. Her legs felt as if they'd give away at any moment. She looked among the crowd, all patiently waiting for Amy to do her job if you could call it that.

Amy shakily and slowly reached for her vest and pulled it off her shoulders. Sick fucks. How can you take pleasure in this? Before she knew it, she was dropping her vest to the floor. The audience still seemed dissatisfied. Amy knew what this meant. Goddammit, there's got to be a way out of this. She reached for the bottom of her shirt and pulled it over her head. The audience clapped and cheered when she did this. Amy, on the other hand, wanted to vomit. The crowd stopped clapping, and it seemed as though they wanted more. Motherfuckers are gonna pay for this. I'll kill every last one of them. She reached down to her waist and undid the button on her jeans. She dropped them to the floor and stepped out of them, stepping out of her boots as well. The crowd gave another round of applause and cheers. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you...

"Dance!" someone in the crowd called.

Amy began to do what she considered a dance. The crowd seemed to love it. Amy was embarrassed. She finished her dance, but the crowd wasn't completely satisfied. She knew what they wanted. I can't. She didn't feel the strength.

"Come on!" another voice from the crowd said. "Let's see 'em!"

Amy had no choice, no control. She reached her arms around her back and unclasped her bra. It fell to the floor. Everyone in the crowd cheered and clapped. Amy had never felt this embarrassed in her whole life. How can you find this sexy? You sick, twisted fucks! The crowd began chanting, "More! More! More! More!" Amy couldn't go any further. She broke.