What if they kept me here and made me to do hard labor? Or worse… made me into a personal slave and forced me to massage the boss’s feet? My stomach roiled. That would be my living nightmare. I’d literally rather be killed. I could almost bet that wouldn’t happen, though. Not because it was a totally random and maybe slightly unhinged fear, but because while there were other humans around, being tested like I was, there weren’t any human workers—foot slaves or otherwise.
