text: \Content Warning Small detail mentions of child abuse, selling people, sex slaves and illegal actions against the human body. &#x200B; \ &#x200B; In my line of work there is little room for moral rightness. I follow the money and that is all I care for. Objects of unspeakable origins have graced my possession only to be handed off to the highest bidder. The odors of dens and whore houses I have crawled into in order to practice my trade do not linger on my clothes for very long. The trauma of my wares does not bother me in the slightest. It is not honest work and that does not bother me either. I have had many clients in the past and have never failed a delivery. Credits are traded in hushed whispers, as if the patron is shy. The things they buy would lead one to a different impression but that is not something that worries me. Everyone's money is good money. One case I am working on involves something called a “Caged Flytrap”. I had never heard of such a thing. The info brokers I have on retainer could only point me to an auction house that specializes in human goods. I am not new to this type of trade, I have obtained fresh thigh meat and full living people. I have some reservations about children, but there is little I won’t deal in. Everyone is dealt a bad hand from time to time, who am I to waste opportunities like those? There is a knock on my door. I answered it to find my hired driver waiting to take me to the Auction House. I gather my files and head out. On the ride there, I look over the little info I have. A caged flytrap is only referenced once in physical documentation. It indeed involves a living human, but aside from that there are no discernible details regarding what exactly they entail. I arrive at an alley where my driver opens the door and bids me a good time, he’s funny like that. Walking down the length of the alley, the brick walls are lined with chipping white paint that once advertised a cattle exchange yard. Just past a green dumpster sat a large iron door that seemed too well maintained for the area. Such subtleties are lost on the overprotective types. I knock on the door three times followed by a sharp cough. A thin sliding view hole squeaks open, revealing a set of beady blue eyes. “What” an echoed voice calls from behind. “It’s a lovely day for rain, don’t you think?” I responded. The door opens with a hush of air, leading to a small landing that descends into a dimly lit marble staircase. The heels of my shoes click calmly down the smooth surface of the stairs, lending to the vast emptiness of the stairwell. At the bottom, there is a small wooden door. I open the door to lead myself into an amber lit, red velvet lined room. There are already a few bidders waiting in large leather chairs facing a grand stage gilded with angelic motifs not dissimilar to an opera house. A thick black curtain is drawn over the stage. Each fold is exaggerated by bright stage lights burning their circles of yellow and blue into the void-like surface of the material. A wooden podium is silhouetted by the soft shadows cast from the ambient light. I find myself an open chair in the back row and await for the main event to start. Cocktail waitresses and waiters walk along the aisles offering sinful concoctions in scantily clad lingerie. Well mannered and polite, they show little interest in the individual person they are serving, as it should be. Such places are known for not prying too much into the personal affairs of their patrons aside from their bank accounts. I take a small glass offered to me containing an unknown but very well crafted drink and listen to the conversations around me. There is a hum around the room discussing interest in the various goods up for sale. A tall man in a fair suit exclaims his excitement for the upcoming offering of a young boy. Another woman details the last time she was here and bid on a few pounds of rump she served at a dinner party unbeknownst to her party guests. A shrill bell chimed and it was time to start the first auction. Patrons found their way to seats and awaited for the first offering. A dark eyed woman in a tasteful dress walked onto the stage welcoming everyone to tonight's event. She spoke with well chosen words and did not waste time with unnecessary pleasantries. She stood behind the podium as the black curtain opened. Placed on a black pedestal stood a mummified hand encased in glass. The auctioneer explained the piece to be the mummified remains of a well known pharaoh recently unearthed. Looking into the audience she started the bid at 2.5 million dollars. Several numbered paper cards shot up exclaiming offers. The hand sold for 6.2 million dollars. The auctioneer congratulated the woman who won the bid as the crowd clapped. Mummified remains in this market are usually ground into paint pigment and used in over the top portraits for the sole purpose to brag that it contains authentic mummy brown. Many other items were auctioned and sold including human meat, a taxidermized conjoined fetus, several sex slaves of various ages and other objects of immoral value. As the auction was winding down and the black curtains found their way back to a closed position, I got the feeling that I had come to the wrong place. I have not heard a single mention of a caged flytrap or anything related to them. As I stand up, the auctioneer announces that there was one final object up for bidding. The curtains open back up and reveal a figure covered in a white sheet. Before I could sit back down, the auctioneer pulled the sheet back. What I was seeing was not like anything I had ever seen before. My mind could not comprehend what was on that stage. The auctioneer backed up to her podium and my eyes finally adjusted to the monstrosity before me. The figure for sale resembled a young woman. She wore a tattered white garb stained with dried blood and what looked like soot. Her hands were held stiffly at shoulder height by a rough plank of wood like a pillory. Around her neck and head was a large iron cage adorned with copper snakes and butterflies. She stood motionless, gasping behind the device she was woven into. The auctioneer stated that this was a caged flytrap and bids start at 145.5 million dollars. My card shot up without thought. My client placed no limitations on this object, money was no object. “150 million” I shouted a little too loudly. The crowd looked back at me with murmured whispers. It seems they had no idea what this Caged Flytrap was. I guess we are all in the same boat. No other offers were given and I won the bid. The curtains closed over the monster and the auctioneer congratulated me on winning the bid. I walked over to the ticket kiosk to fill out the paperwork and turn in the paper card I was using. Money is never exchanged in hand at these places. Far too much to deal with in person. Bookies and brokers will deal with the cash later. I beckoned my driver to pull around to the loading bay. As I waited, two burly men walked over to me with the Flytrap covered in the same cloth as on stage. They informed me not to remove the cloth until she was delivered. They placed a heavy importance on that request. I took hold of the Flytrap’s arm from under the cover and guided her over to the car. Her skin was much warmer than I had anticipated. This was a living human after all, why had her warmth shocked me so much? I sat in the back with the product and rode in silence to my clients rendezvous point. We arrived first. It was a peaceful, railed cliff overlooking a lake. The moon hung so plumply in the sky, it seemed to drip into the water with every gentle wave. I saw headlights cast a shadow over the inside of the car and I stepped out, placing a mask over my face. Although I am entwined in the underground lives of my clients, I must keep some modesty. “Oh good God, you actually found one.” My client exclaimed. “Please, remove the cloth. I must see it.” I informed him of the strict instructions not to remove the cover until it was secured at a residence. My client agreed and admitted to being a little excited over the whole ordeal. My client's men placed the Flytrap gently in the back of their vehicle. Both me and him were looking past the horizon as the situation was being secured. “Do you know much about them? The Caged Flytraps?” My client asked. “No, sir. there isn’t much information on them in our files. I had almost thought it was a myth.” I responded. He looked over to the car with his newly acquired thing then looked back at me. “They are orphans who are taken at birth. Stripped of all humanity, dignity, touch, interaction and any other comforts you can think of.” He said. “They are abused and neglected until the point of death. This process makes it impossible for them to form personalities. They are essentially mindless shells.” I held back a gulp. Even in my field of work, this was a little too much for my stomach. “They usually die-” He continued. “The process is so hard on the body. How do you remove a soul without killing the flesh? That’s what makes them so rare. Well, someone figured it out a long time ago. The Caged Flytraps are feral but very obedient. They do whatever you ask them to. Do you know why they gave them the name Caged Flytraps?” “I couldn’t begin to wonder, sir.” “If given, they will eat humans alive. Like an animal.” He said flatly. We stood there for a while longer. He turned to his car and got in. As they backed out to drive away, he rolled down his window. “Your payment will be much higher for finding this one, olé boy. My thanks.” He said before they sped off. I waited a moment after I couldn't hear the car anymore. I retched over the railing and vomited through my mask. My driver came over with a handkerchief to help clean me up. He helped me up and to the car. I sank back into the seat and closed my eyes. “Are you okay, sir?” My driver asked me. “Yes, I’m fine.” I responded. “Just a little sea sick from watching the water.