Worldwide Boy Gladiators Part 1
By istari

copyright 2007 by istari, all rights reserved

* * * * *
This story is intended for adult audiences only, and is a
work of complete and total fiction. Comments are welcome and
can be directed to istari_olias@yahoo.com
* * * * *


Chapter 1.

Extreme Action Broadcasting had its global headquarters in
New York City, with satellite offices in London, Paris,
Toronto, Moscow and Sydney. Completed in 2035, the building
was one of the tallest in the world and all of the company's
administrative and production offices were located on the
upper floors, overlooking a most unusual media empire. Today
known around the world simply as XB1, it began
inauspiciously in the fall of 2025 as a low-rated, fifth
tier wireless broadcasting network featuring a twenty-four
hour cavalcade of shock reality programming. First re-
running vintage episodes of Survivor, Fear Factor and other
similar fare, the XB's viewership showed little growth for
the first year of its existence and it seemed certain the
network would join the ever expanding list of defunct and
forgotten media ventures.

That was before William Durand purchased a controlling
interest in the failing company and began adding original
programming to the line-up. Unique original programming
designed to attract a very small but very wealthy and
influential segment of the population. Durand had a deep
personal interest in his network's development of new
entertainment, and he knew without a doubt that audiences
worldwide were simply waiting for his brand of reality
television to come along. In an earlier century, even an
earlier decade, perhaps Durand's XB1 would have remained a
small underground sensation, catering to very small but
enthusiastic market. However that all changed when the
United States became a signatory to the International Child
Slavery Act, which was passed and ratified by the World
Assembly of Nations in 2027. 

Within twelve months of the passage of this euphemistically
labeled "social engineering" law, Extreme Action was
offering fare such as "Bully my Middle-schooler", in which
college-aged jocks put twelve and thirteen-year-old boys
through all sorts of brutal hazing and humiliation. "Little
Guy's Fight Club" in which boys aged nine through eleven
essentially beat the crap out of each other in front of a
live worldwide audience. And of course the controversial but
highly rated "Enslaved" which followed thirteen-year-old
Mark Davis through his first year of servitude under the
government's newly enacted child slavery act. The small
underground network exploded into the mainstream, and people
around the world, men and women both, discovered something
terribly shocking about themselves: They enjoyed watching
young teenaged boys being humiliated and subjected to all
manner of suffering.

The network is now one of the most-watched around the world,
but in the cut-throat world of reality broadcasting, you are
only as popular and credible as your latest epic spectacle
of human misery. William Durand understood this, and he
understood the somewhat remarkable but not exactly shocking
truth that viewers of all ages, classes, races and
orientations enjoyed watching boys nine to fourteen
suffering all manners of tortures, humiliation and
degradation. For his newest program, in the coveted Saturday
prime-time slot, he needed something amazing, astounding,
utterly and totally shocking. Something that would raise the
bar for all future shows to come.

Lara Tomlinsin was sure she had the answer. She'd only been
at XB1 for a few months, and while she personally had no
great fondness for her employer's programming, she
appreciated the addictive nature of voyeuristic television.
She also had no particular moral apprehensions about
developing a concept that would make all of Extreme Action's
previous efforts appear tame by comparison.

"I don't normally make time for personal meetings with
junior producers, Ms. Tomlinsin," Durand began as he looked
out over the city from his office on the 121st floor. "But
you were quite insistent. This had better be worth it, or
you'll find yourself over at Fox."

Lara smiled at the open insult, but quickly and efficiently
set up her presentation. The office lights dimmed, and
William Durand stared at the large viewscreen at the far end
of the room. Lara began her pitch, flashing a single picture
onto the screen. Durand immediately sat forward and laced
his fingers. "What am I looking at there, Ms. Tomlinsin?"

"This is a detail taken from an ancient Roman fresco.
Pompeii, I believe, though that hardly matters."

"Those would be gladiators, would they not?"

The attractive brunette nodded, her long hair flowing easily
with her graceful movements. "They are, sir, but they are
much more than that. Take a closer look." 

She magnified the image. Durand was amazed at what he saw.
The smooth slender limbs, the beardless faces, the youthful
expressions. 

"Those are boys."

"Yes, sir. Boy gladiators."

"I didn't think the Romans ever sent children into the
arena, not as gladiators anyway. Women yes, but boys . . . "

"Oh, they sent them. In fairly large numbers if recent re-
evaluations of frescoes like these are to be believed. There
are a great many details about the ancient world that
conservative history texts tend to overlook. This happens to
be one of them. I suppose it would have all been too
shocking for early twenty-first century moralists, but of
course, our standards have changed somewhat in the last ten
years. Thankfully."

"We would not be in business if they hadn't."

"And it's my job to ensure that you remain so. I call my
concept 'Worldwide Boy Gladiators'."

"I'm interested already."

"I thought you might be."

"Details, Ms. Tomlinsin."

The young woman brushed her hair back. "Please call me
Lara."


"Very well, Lara. You have my attention."

"Well, sir, my concept is really very simple, and

based upon XB1's proven successes. As the show's title
indicates, we will subject a group of boys to various trials
and tests of strength and endurance, they will, of course
fight one another . . . "

"Little Guys Fight Club. We already have that show."

Lara nodded but was not deterred. "Gladiators will be
significantly more . . . intense . . . and considerably more
creative in its execution and production."

"I'm listening, Lara."

"The boys we recruit for the show will all be between the
ages of ten and fourteen. In order for them to participate,
they and their parents will have to sign a contract of
indenture, which we will hold exclusively until the boy's
sixteenth birthday."

Durand's eyes lit up and he nodded slowly in approval. Lara
Tomlinsin had done her homework. It was a brilliant idea.
"So we will own each of them."

"Precisely. And since the boys will become the bonded
property of Extreme Action Broadcasting, we will have the
widest discretion imaginable."

"Limitless, I would say."

"Under the terms of a standard contract of indenture, the
only stipulation is that the boy not be killed. I think we
can safely guarantee that."

"Tell me more about the program. What can I expect to see if
I tune in on Saturday nights?"

"As I said, sir, we will feature extreme tests of strength
and endurance. The boys will also be subjected to constant
and extraordinary physical and mental . . . duress . . . "

"You may use the word 'torture', Lara, for that is what it
is and that is why people will be watching each week."

"Yes, torture. There will be competitions each week, with
the boys pitted against each other either in teams or
individually. And also, since the boys will legally be
slaves, we can introduce certain, shall we say, sexual
elements into the program without risk of government fines
or cancellation."

"That would be a first for us."

"And a sure ratings bonanza."

"How will we handle eliminations?" Durand asked.

Lara smiled. "We won't. Remember, sir, for all practical and
legal purposes we own these boys until they turn sixteen. We
don't eliminate anyone. Oh, there will be winners and losers
each week. The winners will receive some reward, the losers
will be punished. In addition, we will keep the boys on a
competitive points system. Pluses for achieving, demerits
for failing. The boys with the lowest scores will of course
be subjected to far worse ordeals and humiliation than those
with higher scores."

"I assume the rankings will change constantly."

"That's the plan. Certainly you can expect the youngest boys
to be at or near the bottom most of the time, but we'll set
things up so they get a fair chance at winning at least some
of the time. I can virtually guarantee that every boy will
spend some time on the bottom. This system will help create
rivalries between them. We don't exactly want them hating
each other, but we don't want them becoming best friends
either."

"What's in it for the families? I mean I don't think we're
likely to find too many families willing to indenture their
sons just for the mild celebrity status they might possibly
attain."

"Don't be so sure about that, Mr. Durand," Lara said with a
smile. She then flashed up the first of the pertinent
financial charts and figures. "But you are right of course.
The chance to be on television for a few years is a rather
steep price for selling a boy into slavery, so we will be
offering financial incentives to each family."

"How much incentive are we talking about here, Lara?"

"Five million into a trust fund for the boy, accessible upon
the expiration of his indenture. And an additional half-a-
million paid immediately and directly to the family upon the
signature of the indenture contract."

"That's not a great deal of money for us, is it?"

"Our advertising income for the first season alone should
net us far more than we will ever pay out in trust."

"How many boys?"

"Ten is a nice round number, don't you think. We don't want
too many or people will get them confused with one another.
With ten its big enough to allow for some real competition,
but small enough that viewers worldwide will get to know
them."

"I'm sure the odds-makers will have a field day with this."

"Yes, and since we hold majority shares in several of the
major wagering parlors and casinos, we should net a tidy
profit there as well."

"So, we're looking at about sixty mil to acquire the boys."

"Yes."

"Facilities? Where do you plan on producing and filming this
gem?"

The screen flashed once again at Lara Tomlinsin's command,
this time showing an aerial photograph of a small island.
"Recognize it?"

Durand smiled. "That's my island, Ms. Tomlinsin."

"Yes. Durand Island, formerly San Miguel. A tiny little
paradise in the Caribbean. Present population: One very
wealthy and very bored part-time resident. You."

"It's the perfect location."

Lara laughed in agreement. "Somehow I thought you would not
object to being close to the production facilities on this
one."

"Indeed I don't. What did you have in mind?"

"Well, sir, of course your private manor will remain
untouched and off-limits to everyone, but the entire
southern two-thirds of the island is completely unused.
Perfect for the development of this project. And since you
personally own the entire island, there'll be no licensing
or permits required. We can begin immediately."

"What do you propose?"

"Let me show you," Lara said. A new graphic was superimposed
over the aerial view, showing an extensive complex of
buildings clustered in the southern area of the island. "Of
course here in the center you have the main arena. It's
designed to seat five hundred people. XB1 can invite
clients, advertisers, or personal associates to attend the
events. Of course to support visitors we will need to
enlarge the current landing strip, as you see here," Lara
pointed to a runway running perpendicular to the shoreline,
several miles away from the complex she was proposing.

"Next to the arena you have the training facility. Toward
the east you have the housing area for the film crew and
island staff. This building next to the housing units is the
administrative and pre and post-production facility. It also
has a cafeteria, and medical facilities for the XB1 staff.
Everything is state of the art, of course."

 Lara then indicated a small structure, which appeared to be
surrounded by a fence. "Over here, to the north of the
arena, we will have a maximum security barracks for the
boys. We don't want any of them deciding they'd be better
off swimming home once they get on the island. When they're
not competing or in training, they will be kept under strict
control."

"Excellent. The barracks seems rather small."

"It is, Mr. Durand, intentionally. The boys will be
permitted no comforts, no television, no outside contact
except a weekly call home. The barracks contains five
separate cells. Two boys will be housed in each. It is more
than adequate to meet their needs."

"Again, excellent. What is the cost and timetable for
construction?"

"Assuming you give me a green light today, Gladiator Island
can be up and running by the end of the summer. I anticipate
having the boys arrive in August to begin their training,
with the premiere episode airing live worldwide on September
7th. Total construction cost will be approximately thirty-
two million dollars, US. The sale of box seats in the arena
should net twice that amount within the first six months."

"Several times now you've mentioned the need for staff.
Explain this to me, Lara."

"Well, Mr. Durand, Gladiator Island will be a new venture
for us, something XB1 has never attempted before. Not only
will we have a large on-location set and broadcasting
facility, but we will also have to deal with ten boys who
will be the legal property of the corporation. To do this
right, we need to have a doctor, a team of nurses, at least
six individuals trained in juvenile corrections and a
separate trainer for each boy, to manage them on a day to
day basis. Not to mention the film crew, the commentators
and a master of ceremonies for the broadcasts."

"You are talking about a sizeable outlay for payroll, my
dear," Durand said, shaking his head.

"Not as much as you might think. It is not terribly hard to
imagine that there are qualified individuals out there who
would be more than happy to relocate to the island and
oversee the boys for limited or no salary."

"I'd do it in a heartbeat."

"And you're not alone. I've already taken the liberty of
having our recruiting office begin the search for suitable
candidates for the island's full-time positions. Travel,
room and board would of course be provided by the company
for the duration of their employment."

"That seems fair. Do we have prospects for all open
positions at this time?"

"We do, all except master of ceremonies. But I have someone
in mind for that."

"Indeed. Who?"

Lara flashed her boss her winning smile. "You, sir. Who
could be better?"

Durand was flattered, and quite pleased with the idea. "I
humbly accept, Ms. Tomlinsin," he said with a dignified bow
of his head. "Now, tell me about the boys. Have you begun
recruiting them as well?"

"Not yet, sir," the young woman answered, knowing she had
the world's most powerful media mogul sold on her idea. "But
we naturally want slim, handsome, athletic boys . . . and
since we're calling it 'Worldwide Boy Gladiators' we need to
recruit from outside the United States as well."

"How will you find them?"

"I'll start by having recruitment search the web for
elementary and middle school athletics

pages. We need boys who are champions. We'll focus on
swimmers, wrestlers, soccer players, maybe runners and
gymnasts too. Boys from those five groups should all have
the physical characteristics we're looking for."

"You have your green light, Lara. Make this show a reality."

"Thank you, sir. You won't be disappointed."


Chapter 2.

Six months later.  Bowie, Maryland. USA.

Thirteen-year-old Christopher Andrews stood in front of his
family's mailbox, holding the plain brown envelope in his
left hand. Chris never got mail, at least not addressed
directly to him. What was even more amazing was that his
younger brother Josh also had an identical envelope.

"Mr. Joshua M. Andrews," the blond-haired eleven-year-old
said, holding the letter up to the sky. "That's me alright.
You got one too, huh, bro?"

"Sure did, squirt," the equally blond-haired young teenager
replied. "Let's get inside and open 'em up."

"Race ya!" Josh shouted, bolting toward the front porch
without further warning.

"No contest, baby brother," Chris laughed. It took his
slender five-foot frame about seven steps to pass that of
his four-and-a-half foot tall brother. 

 "No fair," Josh yelled as he tromped up the wooden steps.
"You're legs are longer 'n mine."

Chris gave Josh an affectionate little punch in the shoulder
and they went inside. The two boys were about as close as
brothers could be. Josh was just old enough not to be a pest
to his big brother, and Chris was still young enough that he
didn't mind hanging out with Josh. They certainly looked
like brothers. Both boys had blond hair, which they wore
shoulder length. Chris had blue eyes, like his mom, Josh's
were brown like his dad's. They were both were lightly
tanned from summer days spent outdoors. Chris had a few
freckles across his nose. Josh did too. They were slender,
athletic, muscular young boys who loved, and played,
practically every sport ever created. Chris was the state
swimming champ for his age group. Josh carried the same
title in wrestling. Their medals hung proudly on the family
mantle above the fireplace.

Young Chris was in his first year of puberty, his voice
always crackling and breaking at the most embarrassing
moments. Josh was still prepubescent, but he was starting to
get taller and would probably start noticing other changes
about his body in the next few months.

"Mommmm, we're home," Chris called as he shucked off his
shoes and put his envelope down on the kitchen table. Josh
copied his brother precisely.

Lindsay Andrews came up from the basement carrying a basket
of laundry. She smiled when she saw her two sons. "Hi, boys.
What did you two get up to today?"

"Nothin', mom," Josh answered. "Just rode our bikes 'n
stuff."

"Someone sent me and Josh a letter," Chris said.

Lindsay set the laundry basket down on the table and
examined the two identical letters. The return address was a
post office box in New York City, but there was no name for
the sender.

"Can we open 'em?" Josh asked.

"They're your letters, boys," mom answered. "Don't see why
not."

The two boys tore open the envelopes. Inside each was a
single page letter bearing the XB1 logo in the top left
corner. 

"XB1!" Chris whistled in admiration. The thirteen-year-old
loved 'Little Guys Fight Club' and often practiced moves on
Joshua. The boys weren't allowed to watch any of the
networks other shows, but Chris had sneaked downstairs a few
times when everyone else had gone to bed to watch
'Enslaved', which this year featured a fourteen-year-old
named Ryan. That show gave Christopher a rather funny
feeling in his gut, and his teenaged dick always got hard
when he watched it. He didn't really know why. 

After he read his letter, he looked over at his brother who
was busy staring back at him. He looked down and read the
letter again. Josh did the same.

"Fuckin' shit! Oh, fuckin' shit!"

"Christopher!" his mother shouted. "Watch your language!"

"Sorry, mom," the young teenager said, "but look. Just look
what it says! They want us to be on TV!"

"Yeah, mom! TV!" Josh echoed his brother's excitement,
thrusting his letter in front of his mother's face.

"Calm down, boys," their mom said. "Let me see your
letters."

She read them both, then handed them back.

"Well?" the two boys asked in unison.

"We need to talk about this as a family, guys. Let's wait
'til your dad gets home. "

"Are they for real?" Chris asked.

"Yes, Chris, they are."

"Wow!"

Eleven-year-old Josh started jumping around the kitchen,
unable to contain his excitement. "We're gonna be TV stars!"

Matthew Andrews pretty much had the same initial reaction to
his sons' letters as the boys themselves did. The family
celebrated by ordering pizza. Lindsay Andrews however was a
little worried. "I just don't understand why they'd pay us
so much money to put Chris and Josh on television, before
the show is even on the air. And I don't think I like the
title very much."

"Oh come on, Lin. The least we can do is hear whatever it is
they want." 

"Says right here they'll pay us, mom," Chris said, pointing
to the number with all the zeroes after it. "How many is
five with six zeroes after it, dad?"

"That's five million dollars, sport."

"Freakin' awesome."

"I get that much too, right?" Josh asked. 

"Sure do."

"What would we have to do?" Chris asked, shoving a piece of
pepperoni pizza into his mouth. From his limited experience
with the network's programming, he had a vague idea that
some unpleasant things might happen to him if he agreed to
be on the new show.

"That's the question, boys," their father said. "XB1 does
some pretty extreme stuff . . . "

"Duh, dad!" Josh, always the family smart-ass replied.
"Extreme is like in their name."

"I mean they'd do extreme stuff to you," their father said,
"and make you do things you probably won't like. I've seen
some of their other shows, the ones you two aren't allowed
to watch. Come to think of it, five million dollars each
might not really be enough. They'd do some pretty nasty
things to you boys."

"But it's so much money," Chris said, "plus you get to keep
some it right now, don't you?"

"That's what it says, honey," Lindsay Andrews replied. 

"You guys could . . . like . . . pay for the house and
stuff, right?"

"With money to spare, sweetie," his mom answered. "but this
isn't about your dad and me."

"Sure it is, mom. Its about the whole family, you, dad, me
an Josh. It's so much money," Chris repeated for the fourth
or fifth time since the family's debate began.

"Look," Matt Andrews told them, "it says if we're
interested, we should call them and they'll send someone out
to meet with us. We don't have to decide until we talk to
them and find out what this is all about."

"Let's call right now, dad, pleeeease," Josh begged.

"Chris, you're the oldest," their father said. "Why don't
you call for yourself and your brother."

"Can I? Really?" It was such a grown-up thing to do, make
the call all by himself. Josh gave him a big smile. The
thirteen-year-old took a last gulp of Pepsi then got up and
went to the phone. A few moments later his family heard him
talking to the person at the other end of the line.

"Hi. This is Christopher Andrews . . . yeah . . . you guys
sent me and my brother Josh a letter . . . yeah . . . yeah
that's us . . . yeah I am a real good swimmer . . . you bet
we are . . . okay . . . when . . . tonight . . . uh, sure .
. . hang on a sec, k?"

Chris covered the receiver with his left hand. "They wanna
send a guy to see us tonight, all the way from New York
City! Private jet or somethin' . . . can I say okay?"

Mom and dad nodded slowly, a little concerned at how fast
things were moving. Josh was practically bursting. Chris
turned back to the phone. "Okay. My folks said it's cool.
Eight o'clock. Okay. You guys need directions or somethin'?
Okay. Bye."

"They'll be here at eight," Chris said, sitting back down
and taking another piece of pizza. He looked up at the
clock. "Shit it's five-thirty now!"

"Alright," mom told them, "why don't you both get showers
and put on some clean clothes."

Eleven-year-old Josh, who still believed baths and showers
should be optional, rolled his eyes. Mom scolded him gently.
"Don't give me that look, mister. Besides, you want to make
a good impression, don't you?"

"Yes, mom," the boy said as he followed his brother
upstairs.



The boys were dressed in cargo shorts and pullover shirts
when the doorbell rang. Both of them were barefoot. There
was a large Hummer parked in the family driveway. The man at
the door was young, in his early twenties to judge by
appearance. He was dressed business casual with a laptop and
briefcase at his side. It was Chris who got the door, and so
unknowingly met for the first time the man who would become
his trainer on Gladiator Island.

"You must be Chris," the man said with a smile. The five-
foot tall boy standing in front of him was even more
attractive in person than he was in his picture. The word
cute definitely came to mind and described Christopher
Andrews perfectly. "My name is Jason Sanborne. Extreme
Action Broadcasting. I've got a business card here
somewhere. May I come in?"

"Yes, sir," Chris said enthusiastically. The boy offered to
take one of the cases from the man's hands, but was politely
refused. The thirteen-year-old led their visitor into the
living room to introduce him to the family. Along the way
Jason Sanborne enjoyed the view of the trim athletic young
teenager in his beige shorts. The boy's calves were
fantastic. His bare boy-feet were adorable. His little butt
covered in light summery cotton was a thing of almost poetic
beauty.

"Everybody, this is Jason," Chris said, trying to sound as
grown-up as possible. The man set his briefcase and laptop
on the coffee table and met the parents of the two Andrews
boys for the first time. "And last but not least this must
be Josh," Sanborne said when the sandy-haired four-and-a-
half-foot-high eleven-year-old offered his small hand.
"Pleased to met you, young man."

Jason Sanborne was in fact very pleased. Chris Andrews'
eleven-year-old brother was every bit as cute as the older
boy, with a pair of the deepest darkest brown eyes the man
had ever seen. 

The two Andrews boys were going to be stars. If he could
convince their parents to let their sons become boy
gladiators.

Sanborne removed several folders from his briefcase and set
up the laptop. "Shall we get down to business then?" he
asked in a friendly tone, his eyes casually wandering over
the slim bodies and handsome faces of the two young
brothers.

"Your letter has us all very excited," Lindsay Andrews said.
"It all seems too good to be true."

"Oh, it is all quite true. We're looking for ten strong,
smart, athletic boys for our newest program."

"What exactly is the program about?" the boy's father asked,
not trying to sound too interested.

"Well as you know, we are calling the show 'Worldwide Boy
Gladiators'. I believe that name probably speaks for itself.
It is certainly meant to. I can only assume you are familiar
with some of our other programs. This one will make them all
seem rather dull in comparison."

Matthew and Lindsay Andrews were much more aware of the
content and extreme nature of some of XB1's programming than
their thirteen and eleven-year-old sons. The thought of
willingly allowing their precious boys to be involved in
something so potentially traumatic was certainly troubling
to them. But the money being offered would secure a wealthy
future for Chris and Josh and help pay off all the family's
mounting debts, which were beginning to become a real
problem. In fact, just a few weeks ago, Matt and Lindsay had
sat up half the night arguing. Matthew had gently raised the
possibility of selling one of the boys into slavery.

Lindsay went ballistic at first and threatened to leave and
take the boys with her. Matthew calmed her down.

'Just hear me out, Lin. It is something we might have to
consider. Other parents do it. The Wildesins down the street
sold Timothy last summer.'

'I never liked that boy anyway,' Lin confessed, 'but still
its horrible. Do you know the kind of things they do to boy
slaves?'

'I do. I also know we're in way over our heads. If the
government steps in, they'll take both boys from us.'

'Don't say that. Don't ever say that . . . '

And so the conversation went on while their two sons slept
blissfully in their beds down the hall. Now a man from one
of the biggest and richest media companies in the world was
sitting in their living room offering them enough money to
never have to worry again. They looked at their boys for a
moment, ushering away the thoughts of what might befall them
should they agree to take the money. They then returned
their attention to Jason Sanborne in his casual shirt and
tie.

"We've done extensive research for the past two months and
your sons appear to meet all of our physical requirements.
They both fall within the right height and weight range for
their ages, and, to be quite frank, they are very attractive
boys. I won't pretend it is not a major criterion for
selection. Good-looking boys draw viewers. But mostly we
need boys who are champion athletes. Boys who like to win at
all costs. You are both good athletes, right?"

"Yes, sir," the boys answered in unison.

"Good. That's why we want you. I've brought two contracts
with me with your names on them. If you agree to
participate, you'll be competing in all sorts of events.
Some will be familiar, like swimming and wrestling . . . "

"That's what we're best at," Chris interrupted, boasting on
behalf of himself and his brother.

Jason smiled at the cute teenaged boy. "I'm glad to hear it,
but that's just the start, boys. There will be other events
you can't even imagine. Things you probably would not
consider sports at all. We'll be testing your strength, your
speed, your endurance, your intelligence. I won't lie to
you. It's not going to be easy, and most of the time it's
not going to be fun. You'll have to do things you never
thought you could do. Things you probably won't want to do.
But you will do them. You won't have a choice. We're going
to push your bodies to their limits, and when you think you
can't take any more, it will get even worse. You will not be
allowed to stop or quit. Not even for a moment."

"We're not quitters," Josh said strongly.

"They wouldn't have sent me here if we thought you were,
young man. Now if you boys will stop interrupting and let me
continue."

"Sorry, sir," the brothers said, Christopher's adolescent
tenor mixing sweetly with Josh's

high unbroken boy soprano.

 "If you agree to participate, there will be no backing out.
You will live on Gladiator Island with the other boys and
your trainers. You boys cannot quit or go home. And you, mom
and dad, may not remove them from our custody once the
contract is signed. And I must tell you we expect a long-
term commitment. Simply put, Mr. and Mrs. Andrews, the
corporation needs your sons, and we are prepared to pay
handsomely for them."

Matthew sat back on the sofa and looked over at Chris and
Josh. The expression on his oldest son's face told him that
the thirteen-year-old vaguely understood Mr. Sanborne's
meaning. Young Josh on the other hand seemed not to have
been paying a whole lot of attention at all. "Mr. Sanborne,"
the boys' father asked, "are you saying what I think you're
saying?"

"I am," Sanborne replied, at last flipping open the two
folders he'd laid out previously. "And for the money being
offered, I think you'll agree the price is fair. If you want
your sons to participate, you and the boys must sign a
contract of indenture. The boys will become the property of
the corporation up to and until their sixteenth birthday, at
which time the indenture may be canceled or transferred to a
third party at your discretion. The indenture is
irreversible and non-negotiable. We would own all rights to
your sons."

Chris definitely got it at this point. "Fuckin' shit! You
mean we'd be . . . like . . . slaves or something!

"That is exactly what I mean, Chris. And there would be no
something about it. You and Josh would be slaves. The
corporation would own you and you would be our property. You
would forfeit all your personal and physical rights. You
will be kept on Gladiator Island and you will participate in
the program until your indenture expires when you turn
sixteen. That means we'd own you for three years, Chris. In
fact, I'd be your trainer, if you and your parents sign the
indenture. Josh, you'd be a slave on the island for five
years."

"Don't sell me, dad! Please!' Josh burst into tears. Every
boy in his sixth grade class had recently taken a trip to
one of the state's five slave processing centers, where boys
his own age and even younger were being readied for their
new lives as slaves. Juvenile criminals, boys whose parents
were simply too poor to raise them or too greedy to care,
third and fourth and fifth sons whose existence was now
illegal due to strict population laws. They all ended up as
slaves. There were girl slaves too, but very few. It was
almost always boys. No one even knew how many boy slaves
there were right now, but Josh knew he did not want to be
one of them, not even for five million dollars.

"I will remind you, it is only an indenture," Sanborne said
to calm the anxious parents. "You will get your sons back,
and they will be millionaires. They will be worked very hard
during their time on the island, but once they're freed,
they will never have to work again."

It was Chris who sat forward, his hands on his knees, his
eyes dancing. "It really doesn't

sound that bad, guys. I mean it'll suck to be a slave an all
that, but like he said it's not forever. Come on, Joshie,
we'll be rich, totally filthy stinkin' rich. All we gotta do
is go to this island and live there for a few years. Plus
we'll be on TV. Everybody will know who we are, won't they
Mr. Sanborne?"

"They certainly will. Weekly viewership is projected at
close to thirty-six percent saturation. You boys will be
quite famous."

"But they'll be slaves," their mother said sadly. What a
horrible choice had been laid before them. A horrible,
tempting, terrible, alluring choice. So much money. It would
start as five million, but it would be kept in trust,
invested by XB1's own financial wizards. By the time Chris
was sixteen in three years, he could maybe have twenty or
twenty-five million. And Josh, he was only eleven, he'd have
to be a slave for five years, but how much money might he
end up with when he was freed? A lifetime of security for
her two boys. What more could any mother wish for. But what
price would they have to pay, living as slaves on that
island, the whole world watching horrible things being done
to them week after week.

"I don't need your decision tonight," Jason Sanborne said.
"You can have forty-eight hours."

Chris stood up and looked at his parents. "I'll do it. I'll
sign the thing right now. Let me do it, guys."

"Chris, honey," the thirteen-year-old's mother said, "once
we sign that paper, you can't take it back. You'll be a
slave until you're sixteen."

"Dad?" Chris turned to his father. Jason Sanborne sat back
quietly enjoying the drama of this family about to willingly
sell at least one of their sons into slavery. 

 "Five million is a lot of money, Lindsay."

"Matthew! I can't believe you're making this about money. Do
you really want to see your son on that awful show?"

"Somebody's son is going to be. Why not Chris?"

"Yeah, mom. Come on. Let me do it. I'll sign the paper right
now."

Josh stared up at his brother. Chris was so brave and so
cool. He wasn't going to let him go away and leave him
behind. "If Chris signs it, I'll sign it," he said. Lindsay
stared at her youngest in pity and horror. Chris clapped his
brother on the back. "That's right, squirt, you and me."

"What do you say, Lin?" their father asked. "I'll sign, if
that's really what the boys want."

Lindsay stood up and drew first Chris then Josh into her
arms. "Are you boys sure this is what you want to do?" 

The two young brothers nodded. Jason Sanborne drew a black
pen from his shirt pocket and held it to Chris. "This is
your file, Chris. Sign the last page. Mr. and Mrs. Andrews,
you'll need to sign below your son's signature. Then we'll
take care of Josh's indenture. Since he's under twelve it's
a little more detailed, but it will be equally binding."

Ten minutes later it was done. Jason closed the files and
returned them to his briefcase.  He did not close the case
but instead pulled out a slim card-sized digital camera.
"Before we finish here, I need to take some photographs of
you both for our official records. Take off your clothes."

Chris and Josh both stared open-mouthed at Jason Sanborne,
not sure they heard him correctly.

"You two are now slaves. Slaves do exactly as they are told.
Now take off your clothes." 

"Right here, in front of mom?" Josh asked, already blushing.

Jason smiled at the boy's modesty. "Mom, dad, perhaps if you
were to go into another room this would be easier."

"Sure," Matthew said, dragging his wife into the kitchen.

"Okay, boys, I gave you a break. Now strip."

Chris and Josh slowly pulled off their shirts, revealing
their slim, muscular, well-tanned torsos. Chris was already
shaped like a young man. Josh still had some of the softer
curves of a little boy, but he was every bit as lean and
athletic as his older brother. 

Sharing a nervous glance, the boys then lowered their cargo
shorts. Chris was wearing black boxer-briefs, Josh had
oversized boxers with cartoon characters on them.

"Underpants too, boys. You'll be kept naked on the island,
so you'd better start getting used to it."

Josh looked at Chris and Chris looked at Josh. Neither boy
was too happy about that last piece of information. Josh was
particularly upset. Like most eleven-year-olds he was very
modest. He wouldn't even let his mom see him in his
underwear. In fact the only person who'd seen him without
his clothes on in the last three years was his big brother. 

"Let's just get it over with, Josh," Chris said, digging his
fingers under his waistband and pulling down his underwear
in a swift graceful motion. Spurred on by his older
brother's courage, Josh did the same. The two boys stood
naked in their own living room. Jason Sanborne looked on,
pleased with what he saw.

Thirteen-year-old Christopher was slender, with nice shapely
thighs, lean arms and a tight muscular abdomen. His chest
was developing nicely, his pectoral muscles beginning to
define themselves. His small dime-sized boy-nipples had been
tanned a pleasant brown from exposure to the sun. He had a
sparse patch of wispy blond pubic hair just above his penis.
Aside from that he was still completely smooth and hairless.
Jason paused at the boy's genitals. Chris' penis was quite
impressive for a boy his age. Uncircumcised and about four
inches long. His balls were big and heavy and hung down
surprisingly low in his pink hairless scrotum.

Eleven-year-old Joshua was a nearly perfect copy of his
older brother in miniature. He was of course completely
hairless, but the great surprise was that his penis was
nearly as big as his brother's, a long thick sausage
dangling between the eleven-year-old's slim legs. His balls,
though noticeably smaller, hung every bit as low as
Christopher's did, swinging back and forth between the
eleven-year-old's smooth shapely thighs.

Chris, in spite of his nice endowment, seemed to be a little
embarrassed, standing next to his little brother whose cock
was in actuality only 1/8 of an inch shorter than his own.
Sanborne made no particular comment about either boy,
although he was greatly impressed at how beautiful they were
and what perfect slaves they were going to be. And Joshua's
oversized penis was certain to make him a big hit with the
viewers.

"You first, Chris. Put your hands behind your head."

Chris did as he was told. To his horror, he felt his penis
slowly starting to harden. By the time Sanborne had finished
taking the pictures, his four-inch dick had grown to a full
six-inch erection.

 Josh went next, bravely copying his brother's pose. His
penis too managed to erect itself, reaching an impressive
five and ¾ inches.

"I see we're going to have to train those penises of yours
not to get hard unless you're told to," Jason said to them
quietly. "We have some very strict rules on the island, but
you'll learn all about that on Friday. Josh, you can call
your parents back in."

"Can we get dressed again?" Chris asked.

"Josh can. You can't until tomorrow morning. I'm your
trainer so we might as well get a head start. I want you to
get used to being naked. You won't be wearing regular
clothes again for a very long time."

Chris blushed and shivered, but made no attempt to retrieve
his clothes. His mom and dad both noticed that he was still
nude while Josh was back in his shorts and shirt. They also
noticed their thirteen-year-old son was having an erection.
They didn't ask, and Chris chose not to talk about it. He
just stood there with his hard dick bobbing up and down.
Jason shook both Matthew and Lindsay's hands, then he turned
to address Chris and Josh. "You two are now slaves. I am
allowing you to stay with your parents for the rest of the
week. You are not allowed to leave this house. You will keep
yourselves clean. Mr. and Mrs. Andrews, as Christopher's
trainer I have given him orders to remain naked until the
morning. He is not allowed to cover himself with his hands
or anything else. That means no sheets or blankets tonight
on his bed. Please see that he obeys my orders. We'll be
sending a collection team for them on Friday morning. I'm
leaving them each a copy of the basic rules we'll be
expecting them to follow once they reach the island. See
that they read them and start to memorize them. You have a
lovely home. It has been a pleasure. Boys, I'm looking
forward to seeing you on the island."


Chapter 3.



Eleven-year-old Josh had a great time teasing Chris for
having to remain naked for the rest of the evening, taking
it upon himself to point out to everyone whenever the
thirteen-year-old's penis showed even the slightest signs of
becoming erect.

"Chris is getting a boner again, mom," became the high-
pitched giggling refrain that echoed through the house that
whole evening.

"Shut up, Josh. Jason said I had to be naked. He didn't say
anything about my dick."

"Don't yell at your brother, young man," their mom said.

Were it not for the fact that their eldest son was nude, and
that both of the boys were now legally considered slaves, it
would have been just another normal night in the Andrews
house, with two brothers teasing and taunting and tormenting
each other. It was summer, so the boys didn't have a set
bedtime. Their father had retired around eleven-thirty. It
was past midnight when Lindsay kissed her boys goodnight,
trying not to think about the fact that she had only three
days of goodnight kisses left before they were taken away. 

"Make sure you two start studying those rules," she
admonished them before going upstairs. 

With their parents both asleep, the brothers sat together on
the couch, Chris naked, laying back, his hairless legs
spread, his four-inch penis dangling soft over his big
thirteen-year-old boy balls which rested upon the cushion.
Josh had stripped down to just his boxers. His hand absent-
mindedly found its way inside his shorts and he fiddled with
himself as he watched TV, enjoying the tight feeling of his
throbbing not-quite-six-inch erection. Soon that weird
tingly feeling started to build up in his balls. He rubbed
his boy-cock even faster until he gasped and cried out and
his entire body writhed with a powerful dry orgasm. Josh lay
his head back on the couch, exhausted from his latest
effort.

Chris smiled at his eleven-year-old brother and leisurely
stroked his own penis. He got hard almost immediately, but
he didn't want to make a mess in the living room. He decided
to wait until he was in his bed, then he'd jerk off as hard
and fast as he could. With is erection still pointing up
toward his belly, Chris picked up the paper Jason Sanborne
had left him. "Guess we should read these, Josh."

"Yeah, guess so."

The boys took turns reading each rule on the list. There
were ten of them. This is what they read:

Chris: "You will address every adult on the island as 'sir'
or 'ma'am'."

Josh: "You will be naked at all times unless your trainer
gives you clothes to wear."

Chris: "You will obey every order given to you and
participate in every activity you are

assigned to."

Josh: "You will not speak unless you are spoken to, except
when you are in your barracks. Then you may speak quietly
with the other boys."

Chris: "You will not touch your genitals or the genitals of
another boy for any reason, at any time, unless you are told
to by your trainer."

Josh: "If you think you are in danger of being injured, you
will tell the nearest trainer immediately. He or she will
decide if you can continue."

Chris: "You will eat only the food that is given to you each
day. You will not share food with other boys and you will
not eat food from the staff cafeteria."

Josh: "You will go to the bathroom only at your assigned
times."



"Wow," Chris said after they'd finished. "Some of those
rules really suck."

"Yeah."

The two boys were suddenly very quiet and very subdued as
the monumental weight of their decision began to set in.
They were slaves. They were going to be treated like slaves.
They were going to an island someplace they didn't even know
where. They would be boy gladiators.

"Think we'll have to fight each other, Chris?" Josh asked.

"Probably. I'll try not to kick your ass to hard."

"Thanks."

The two boys went upstairs around one in the morning. Josh
crawled into his bed right away. Chris noticed that his
parents had stripped his bed of its sheets and blankets,
just as Jason Sandborne had ordered. Chris would have to
sleep naked with no covering for his lean hairless body. 

"Good thing its summer, or I'd freeze my balls off," the
young teenager said. Josh laughed, quite happy it was his
brother who had to be naked and not him. 

Josh rolled over onto his stomach and was asleep in a matter
of minutes. Chris turned down the lamp beside his bed, lay
on his back, spread his perfect thirteen-year-old legs and
jerked himself off, sliding his left hand frantically over
the length of his six-inch erection. He paid special
attention to his foreskin, pulling it all the way up over
the tip of his cock, then skinning it all the way down his
shaft. He loved that tight wonderful feeling. It wasn't long
before the feeling started, deep inside him. Carefully,
slowly, as he'd done for the last few months, he inserted a
single finger into his butt. His cock got even harder. In
the dim light of the lamp the boy could see the tip of it
was wet and oozing with sticky clear fluid. 

"Oh yeah," he whispered to himself as his balls drew up
toward his groin. "Ugh, fuck . . . ooohh." Chris shot his
thin sperm in violent bursts onto his tight muscular
stomach. It had never felt so good. To his surprise, the boy
discovered he'd put a second finger into his rear end. He
didn't remember doing it. "Damn," he said quietly, grabbing
a handful of tissue and cleaning the sticky mess off his
body. "I'm gonna bust something if I keep doing that."

But then again he hadn't busted anything yet in two years
and counting of twice-daily jerk-off sessions. One during
his morning shower. One at night right before bed, after
Josh had fallen asleep. With his head still swimming, Chris
fell asleep on his back, snoring softly, the lamp still
glowing on its lowest setting.



In the morning, Chris woke up first, as always, and roused
his little brother. Josh opened his eyes to see Chris
standing over him naked, his four-inch cock swinging back
and forth as his big brother moved around.

"You still gotta be naked?" the eleven-year-old asked,
yawning.

"I guess."

Josh got out of bed, pulled off his boxers and trotted naked
over to his dresser. He picked out a clean pair of
underpants, silky blue soccer shorts and a tank-top. His
cock was as stiff as a nail, but Josh didn't pay much
attention to it. "See ya downstairs, bro!" he said as he
tore out of the room they'd shared all their lives.

Chris puttered around for a while, kind of enjoying the way
it felt to be naked. He turned on his computer and played a
video games for a while until Josh's high voice shouted to
him from the bottom of the stairs. "Mom says you'd better
get down here for breakfast before its gone."

Chris then realized he was really hungry. He hurried
downstairs, quite forgetting he was still in his birthday
suit.

"Well, I see my naked son has survived the night," his mom
said.

Chris blushed and sat down to a big plate of pancakes. The
phone rang a few minutes later. His mom answered it.

"Its Jason Sanborne, Chris."

Chris took the phone and tried to remember how he was
supposed to address his trainer. "Hello, sir," he said
quietly.

"Good morning, Christopher. Are you naked?"

"Yes, sir. I'm naked. Just hangin' around, you know."

Sanborne laughed on the other end of the line. "You can put
on shorts and a T-shirt today. No underwear. I will be
calling you every morning until Friday and instructing you
on what to wear. After you've eaten your dinner tonight, you
will take off all your clothes and spend the rest of the
night naked, just like last night. Oh, and one more thing.
You are not allowed to masturbate. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Have you and your brother read the rules I left for
you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do either of you have any questions?"

"Not right now, sir. Some of them seem kinda scary."

"They're meant to. You aren't free boys anymore. You and
Josh are slaves. The sooner you start to think like a slave,
the better off you'll be."

"Yes, sir."

"Hang up the phone and repeat my instructions for today to
your mother."

Chris did exactly as he was told. Josh giggled at the
thought of his big brother having to be naked again after
dinner.

"Shut up, squirt."



Thursday evening, the Andrews boys last night at home, came
quickly. Chris spent it naked. Thankfully his penis only got
erect twice, and both times when his mom wasn't around. The
family ate a quiet meal. There really wasn't much to say.
Their mother was trying her best not to cry. Josh and Chris
were trying to be brave for her. The boys had nothing to
pack. They were told they were not allowed to bring any
personal possessions with them. Just after eleven o'clock,
the boys marched upstairs to brush their teeth. It was time
for bed. The last night they would spend in their own beds,
in their own room, in their own home until they turned
sixteen. Chris realized he would not be coming back for
three years, and Josh . . . Josh would have to be a slave
for five years. He would be left behind on the island when
Chris was freed.

"At least we don't have'ta go to school anymore," Josh
observed as he crawled under his covers.

"Yeah, that's totally cool. I never really thought about it.
I mean, by time we're free, we'll be so rich it won't
matter. Fuck school!" the young teenager shouted joyfully. 

"Yeah! Fuck it!" Josh shouted. Any time Chris used a naughty
word, young Josh took it as free license to do the same.

Naked, Chris lay atop his bed, his hands behind his head,
staring up at the ceiling, his tight, slim, muscular
thirteen-year-old swimmer's body stretched out in front of
him. He looked down at himself, at his cute little bush of
blond pubic hair and his soft uncut penis resting over his
balls. He wiggled his boy-toes and took a deep breath. He
suddenly realized his heart was pounding in his chest. He
knew he wasn't going to be getting much sleep tonight.
Tomorrow their new lives would begin, and he had only the
faintest idea what would happen to them. "Are you scared
about tomorrow, Josh?"

"Kinda. Are you?"

"Yeah. Maybe we shouldn't have signed the contracts."

"Yeah."

Their mom came in. Chris brought his trim muscular legs
together and drew his knees up, trying to conceal his
genitals from his mother. It wasn't that he was particularly
shy. He was getting used to be naked. It just seemed wrong
to be lying flat on your back with your half-hard wiener
hanging out when your mom was around.

"One last goodnight kiss, babies," she said sadly, kissing
each of her boys on the forehead. "I'll get you up early
tomorrow. They'll be coming to get you sometime around ten."

"Okay, mom," Josh said.

"We're ready," Chris added bravely. Lindsay Andrews gazed at
her eldest son.

"Chris, I want you to promise me you'll behave yourself. Do
everything you're told and don't cause trouble."

"I will, mom."

"And promise me you'll look after your brother. Take care of
him, okay?"

"I will, mom. I won't let anything happen to Josh, don't
worry." Chris of course did not realize how utterly
powerless he would be to protect his little brother when
their new lives began on the island. Or how powerless he
would be to protect himself.



Friday morning came. The boys' parents woke them up at
seven. Chris and Josh showered and put on the same shorts
and shirts they'd worn when Jason Sanborne had visited
earlier in the week.

At exactly ten o'clock, a white van pulled into the
driveway. Two men in business suits stepped out and walked
quickly to the front door.

"Mr. Andrews?" one of the men inquired.

"Yes."

"Mitchell Harwell. XB1Corporate Security." The man produced
a business card verifying his identification. "I've come to
take Christopher and Joshua Andrews into custody in
accordance with the contracts of indenture signed August 12,
2039. Are they ready?"

"They are, Mr. Harwell. Please come in."

Matthew Andrews escorted Mr. Harwell and his assistant into
the living room. Chris and Josh stood up immediately. 

"Good morning, boys," Harwell addressed them, shaking both
their hands. "I'm here to escort you on the first part of
your journey to Gladiator Island. Are you excited about your
little adventure?"

"Yes, sir," the brothers said in unison.

Harwell nodded. "Good. Now I need you both to listen
carefully. There are a few rules you must follow once we
leave this house. You are officially slaves as of this
moment. That means you must do exactly as you are told, do
you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Chris said in his soft pubescent voice.

"Yes, sir," Josh said in his high pre-teen voice.

"Neither of you are allowed to speak unless you are
addressed directly by me, or one of my aides. If you must
ask a question, you will raise your hand."

The boys nodded that they understood.

"You will be sedated for this first part of the journey. Do
you know what that means?"

Chris shook his head yes. Josh shook his head no.

"Christopher, please explain it to your brother."

"Yes, sir," Chris said, then turned to Josh and told him.
"He means they're going to give us a pill, or something, to
make us feel sleepy."

"Oh," was Josh's only response.

"It simply makes the transition to your new lives easier.
But before we give you your injections, we have to get you
properly dressed for the trip. Strip."

The boys quickly obeyed. They'd already stripped for Jason
Sanborne, so it wasn't anything new for them. It didn't make
it any less embarrassing though, having to take your clothes
off in front of total strangers and your parents. Harwell
however did not seem like a very patient man. Chris and Josh
were down to their boxers in a hurry, exhibiting their
tanned, tight, slender young bodies. They looked at each
other, and slid their last remaining source of modesty down
their slim hips.

 The boys' parents looked on helpless as their sons were
made to remove their clothes in the family living room for
the second time in a week. It marked the last time Chris
would wear normal clothing for the next three years. For
eleven-year-old Josh it would be five years. Once the boys
were naked, Harwell addressed them again.

"Put your hands behind your heads."

The young brothers obeyed. Harwell was very impressed at the
slender, athletic, hairless

young bodies now on display. He noticed the older boy had
the sparse beginnings of pubic hair above his four-inch long
penis. Both boys were uncircumcised and very well endowed,
especially eleven-year-old Josh, whose penis was already
nearly as long and thick as his teenaged brother's.

"As you are now slaves, you will be attired accordingly. If
you are taken from Gladiator 

Island for any reason, you will have a uniform to wear at
all times."

"We get to leave the island sometimes?" Josh asked. "Like go
home 'n stuff?"

The company security man smiled at the two boys. "You won't
be allowed to go home until your indentures expire. You
will, from time to time, be taken from the island for
various public events sponsored by the company."

Harwell's assistant handed him two paper-bound packages,
which Harwell in turn gave to Chris and Josh. "Open them and
put on the clothes you find inside."

The clothes they found consisted simply of a gray sleeveless
tunic and a pair of white shorts. Chris was the first to put
his on, and he was sure he'd gotten Josh's by mistake. The
tunic ended just above his navel. And the white shorts were
very, very short, and very, very tight, making his penis and
testicles bulge out in front of him in a rather obscene way.
When he looked over and Josh though, he saw that his younger
brother's tunic also came to an abrupt end above the boy's
outtie-style belly button, and that Josh's shorts were every
bit as short and tight as his own. The shorts made the four-
and-one-half-foot tall boy's rather oversized genitals
appear almost comically large as they bulged out in front of
him. For the most part, Josh was unaware of just how big his
penis was compared to other eleven-year-olds, but he did
look down at his boyhood package jutting out so prominently
in front of his shorts and giggle in his innocent boyish
way.

Each boy was then given a pair of shoes, plain simple white
trainers. The boys never wore socks anyway, so they did not
think to miss them.

It was humiliating, being forced to wear the tunics and
those small tight shorts. Chris and Josh were both blushing
fiercely. They certainly didn't want their parents to see
them like this.

"Say your final good-byes, boys. You have two minutes. Come
out to the van when you are done. Do not make us come back
in for you."

Chris and Josh hugged their mom and shook their dad's hand. 

"Be good, guys," Matt Andrews said. "Be brave. Be safe."

"We will, dad."

"Remember your promise, Christopher," his mom added, holding
back tears.

"I will, mom."

Chris looked around his house one last time, then turned to
his younger brother. "Ready, Josh?"

"Yeah."

Clad in their slave tunics and their embarrassingly small
white shorts, the Andrews boys left the house and walked
quickly down the driveway. It was just after eleven in the
morning. There were neighbors out and about, and more than a
few of them stopped whatever they were doing when they saw
the two boys in their scant skimpy uniforms. The back door
of the van was open, and at Harwell's instructions the boys
climbed in. What they saw when they got inside made them
both shiver. Their new lives had taken an immediate and
frightening and unexpected turn. Christopher took in a sharp
breath. Josh's brown eyes widened. On the floor of the van
there were the two iron cages placed side-by-side. 

"Crawl inside, boys," Harwell ordered. 

It was too late to go back now. Chris and Josh had signed
the indentures themselves. Their parents had signed them
too. The boys knew they had no choice. Chris was the first
to get down on his hands and knees. Josh quickly followed.
The brothers crawled into the small cages. Harwell closed
them and his assistant clicked heavy padlocks in place over
the latches.

Harwell double-checked the locks, pulling on the doors of
the boys' cages. "Give me your arm, Chris," he then
demanded.

Chris fished his slender arm between the thick iron bars.
His eyes widened when he saw Harwell draw a sharp needle and
syringe from a leather case. The man jabbed the boy's arm
and injected the sedative. Ten seconds later, the thirteen-
year-old's head was already spinning. Thirty seconds after
that, he had a mild drug-induced seizure and slipped into
unconsciousness.

Poor Josh had watched the whole thing and panicked when
Harwell stood in front of his cage.

"You ain't stickin' me with that," Josh shouted, backing
away as far as he could. "You killed him! You killed Chris!"

Harwell smiled warmly. "I did no such thing. I merely put
him to sleep for a while. And now I'm going to do the same
to you. If you make me pull your arm out of that cage, I
promise you I will break it."

Josh wiped the tears from his eyes. Chris rolled over onto
his side and moaned softly in his sleep. That evidence that
his big brother was indeed still alive seemed to calm the
pre-teen. He bravely stuck his arm between the bars and
received his injection, a considerably larger dose than his
brother had been given. Josh's seizure was sudden and
violent and lasted for almost a full minute before he
finally succumbed and passed out. Harwell reached through
the bars, wiped the fluid from the boy's mouth and with
surprising tenderness rolled the little eleven-year-old onto
his side.

The van backed out of the driveway and slowly drove off,
carrying Chris and Josh Andrews toward their harsh new lives
as boy gladiators.

  
WBG1_Worldwide_Boy_Gladiators_Part_1