"Done! When I have more, I'll get in touch. Now get them out of my sight!" she demands. "It's already dawn, but there's always someone watching us."
"Marco, throw the whores in the back of the van," the older man orders, as we're literally tossed in among other girls in a van.
Pandora and I lock eyes, aware of the madness in this game. I look around and see that three of them are with us, completely unresponsive to our presence there. They look like real dolls, and that scares me. Their empty eyes and lack of reaction contrast with their warm skin, which indicates they're alive.
They break down their resistance, suck out their souls—like Dementors—and turn them into dolls. Never has the objectification of human beings been as palpable as it is now, as I watch each of them come to resemb
