The collar clicking around Trey’s neck was supposed to be the culmination of months – years – of planning, the final realization of all his hopes and dreams.

It made the feeling all that much more sour. This collar wasn’t pretty, like the ones in the contraband romance novels. It wasn’t light and airy, it wasn’t comfortable, like the ones Trey had played with, in underground clubs and quiet swing parties. It didn’t come with nice words and a quiet understanding of his place in the world, a sense of comfortable inevitability, a sense of honored submission.

It was heavy, the edges rough, the whole thing looking like someone had just wrapped a bar of metal around Trey’s neck. It had rings on it for leash and cuffs – that much was like the fantasy – but Trey found that this wasn’t a situation where he really wanted to be restrained.

The man walking around Trey wasn’t tall, definitely wasn’t handsome, and certainly wasn’t a beautiful woman. He looked like a soldier. He smelled like a homeless person. He handled Trey like he was a sack of potatoes. “Well.” He pulled Trey up by his collar. “You’re a little old for us, but I think the work camps might be good for you. Or… well. There are other things we can do.”

Trey gulped. “Other?” He wasn’t supposed to talk, he knew he was supposed to keep his mouth shut. This thug had made that very clear already. He made it clear again, with a casual backhand that left Trey seeing spots.

“You know, if I give you to the flesh labs, they can make it so you can’t ever talk again. Seems like a good idea. Come on,” he added, with another tug on Trey’s collar. “We’ll see what they can turn you into.”

Trey couldn’t help a yelped complaint. “This isn’t what was supposed to happen!”

“Yeah, well, you were supposed to be a cute girl. Get used to disappointment.” The man hauled Trey up over his shoulder and carried him down the hall. “I think you’ll make a nice snake-girl.”