up against. Knowledge is power, so I probe further, “They won’t let you feed the lords because you’re sick? They don’t want you touching their food?”

“Hell son, I is their food! The sick’s in my blood so I can’t feed ‘em no more.” He says all this in what is still a very carefree tone. My head sinks deep into my palms as I piece together what Brain Guy has laid on me. This place uses people as walking blood banks.

Fantastic.

On a good note: My shoulder seems to be working again.

On a bad note: Everything else.

My attention is suddenly drawn to the cell wall where the dirty bricks have taken on a bright new crimson hue. Even from here, I can tell where it’s coming from. The sky outside has be...

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