You're loaded into another car, this one even sleeker than the first. The driver takes you to what appears to be an upscale brothel, where he hands you over to another man who looks like the boss. "This one's got some mileage on her already," he says with a grin, "but she should still fetch a good price."

You feel numb with despair as you realize that there is no escape for you now.

The two men exchange a knowing look, then turn their attention back to you. The driver smirks, giving you a once-over before turning on his heel and leaving. The other man, presumably the manager or owner, walks closer, eyeing you appraisingly.

"Well, aren't you a pretty thing?" he says, reaching out to stroke your cheek. His hand feels rough against your skin, but you welcome the touch after so much time alone. "What do you say we get you cleaned up and put on display?