The McDonald pointed. “This is a cow.”
I blinked. I didn’t understand what the McDonalds were attempting to accomplish. “It looks like a goat. It’s got little goat horns and creepy eyes and everything.”
“Okay.” The McDonald grinned. “What noise does a goat make?”
I blinked a few times. “Um, they bleat, right?”
“You’re not going to make the noise for us?” The McDonald asked.
“Um… bleeeeat, ble-bleeeat,” I said, my hands bumping against the gold as if to act it out.
The McDonald shook his head. “That is not what a cow sounds like.”
The goat was led away, only to be replaced with a parade of animals, sheep, pigs, chickens, each “misnamed,” each “proved wrong.” Whether I agreed with their lies or told the truth, I lost every time.
A man wearing a silver slave collar was led into the ring, exactly like the livestock before him. He stood firm, dressed in brown pants and a simple orange tunic that did not match his glowing light green eyes.
“This is a man,” the McDonald said.
I hesitantly nodded, waiting for the trap.
The McDonald grinned. “What sound does a man make?”
I took a deep breath. “Men speak and make various sounds. They can even mimic animals, as I’ve demonstrated over and over.”
The McDonald’s grin widened. “Please, show us.”
I tried to put my hands up in the air. “Um.” I opened and closed my mouth a few times before just addressing the man. “Hi, my name’s Quinn, what’s your name?”
The man inclined his head. “Fionn.”
I looked at the McDonald, who gestured for me to continue.
“Right. Ah, what do you do, Fionn?” I asked.
The man made a fist and moved it up and down. “I’m a builder.”
The chart above me bounced. The McDonald’s eyes gleamed. Fionn was led away, only to be replaced by another man. This one wore a garish suit of purple and green that made him look like a cartoon character. I asked the same question, trying to be consistent with whatever this was. The man answered and was led away, only to be replaced again and again. Builders, blacksmiths, two power slaves, and someone who made cook pads all came and went. Unlike with the animals, the meter above my head bounced wildly.
The final man vanished down the ramp, and the McDonald addressed The Pit. “Animals confused Quinn, yet didn’t change her magical activity.”
I rolled my eyes and took this to mean I could pull my limbs out of the chair.
“But the momentmenentered—creatures of free will—she didn’t question their chains, their comfort, their families. No. She asked how they could serve her.”
My jaw dropped. I’d just wanted them to talk. Everyone does something. Logical. Harmless. And now twisted into proof of corruption.
“A true woman would have asked about families,” the McDonald said, voice sharp as glass. “A woman against slavery would care for suffering. But her? Only usefulness. No mercy. No dignity. Not even clothes, though she prattled about the hides and horns of beasts.” His arms rose. “This isn’t Quinn. This is the Architect’s hand, guiding her every word.”
I leaned forward, eyes wide as my disbelief curdled into outrage.
“You all saw it.” The McDonald pointed above him. “The meter bares every lie. The Architect’s rot festers in her already. Let herreturn to his walls, and she’ll be his weapon, the one that ends us all.”
The Pit exploded with conversation.
The McDonald tilted his head, eyes gleaming. “We will save you from him and place you in your proper position within our family.” His voice didn’t need volume; the quiet cut was worse.
Proper position?The words slithered over me, foul and absurd.
