"I'm selling you." she announces plainly, proudly smirking as you stare mouth agape.
"You're what!?"
"Did you not hear me?" Professor Montana pinches her fingers together. "Is your tiny brain too stupid to understand? Let me repeat myself clearly. I- am- selling- you." A stunned pause passes between you. She shakes her head and scratches her red hair behind her ear. "I know what you're thinking. Everyone asks the same question. No, I am not going into specifics. You are the product now. You don't ask any more questions. I'm not going to divulge my master plan like some cartoon villain." A brilliant look crosses her face, magnificent and sinister. "I am a scientist. And a businesswoman."
The colossal woman in white lab coat steps aside, reaching for another jar on the shelf of captive people, products as she regards them. She takes one into her hand, a small man in a suit inside sits placidly, unaffected by her words or actions. How long has he been here?
You protest, argue, defend him on his behalf, but Montana ignores you entirely. She collects another jar, this with a young woman in it dressed in outdoor sportswear. Maybe Montana picked her out while jogging. This innocent woman is more lively. You can't hear her, but she appears to be pleading, begging the professor. Rebekah Montana only smiles.
Another jar and another, six altogether, are set down on the surface below the cabinet shelves. Montana slaps her hands down, "Congratulations! You lucky ones get to leave today. You're off the market." The redhead grins and listens for any pleasant response from the little people, only to find disappointment. Her lips pout. She responds coldly, "I hope you're ready to spend the rest of your short lives with your new owners."
You can't take this. You shout, "This is crazy! You're insane!"
Montana's head perks up, glaring at your glassy prison. She lifts a finger and pushes it against the clear wall between you, "This isn't crazy. This is business." She taps her nail and withdraws her hand. "I am capitalizing on my invention. Getting paid for my genius."
"You're selling people! You're, you're a slave trader!"
She burns, "You should watch your little mouth, Scott! No one says you or anyone else here is a slave." She appears to calm as she defends, "What my customers do with their purchases is up to them. I don't have a say in that one way or another." Her head snaps from one shoulder to the other. Her red hair glows like fire in the florescent light overhead. "It's all part of the contract. They pay me what I ask. They get what they paid for. And we all keep quiet."
Her eyes return to you, melting through the glass and searing into your pupils. Your heart implodes. Trapped. Helpless. At the mercy of a mad scientist due to one minute distraction. Her stare is endless. She dominates you, forces you to recognize your fate. Your legs weaken and when you see her smiling face, you know you have fallen to your knees before her.
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