The Gulf of Guinea stretched endlessly under a heavy, starless sky. The ocean was a vast, black mirror, its surface broken only by the occasional silver ripple of moonlight. The water was calm tonight — almost unnaturally so.
A massive Harrington cargo ship cut through the darkness. The golden "H" insignia on the hull was still visible, though now marred by bullet holes and dark smears. The deck was littered with bodies. Men in ragged pirate gear lay where they had fallen — some with clean bullet holes in their heads, others hacked apart. The metallic scent of blood mixed with the salt of the sea.
At the open stern, a group of surviving pirates knelt in a ragged line, trembling.
Two men stood over them.
One was a giant — seven feet of muscle and barely contained rage, a heavy machine gun resting in his hands. Beside him stood a lean man with warm brown skin and tightly curled hair tied back, an automatic rifle slung casually across his chest.
A short distance away, leaning against the railing, stood Echo 2. She looked almost bored, one boot propped on a crate, a red lollipop slowly rolling between her lips. Her shoulder-length brown hair moved gently in the sea breeze. A sniper rifle rested against the railing beside her.
Two more figures approached from the shadows.
The first was a short, stocky man with a bandolier of knives across his chest. The second was tall and thin, wearing a button-up shirt and slacks that looked absurdly out of place among the blood and corpses. His hair was neatly combed, glasses perched on his nose.
"Echo One," the dwarf said gruffly. "Area's clear. No more rats below deck."
Echo 1 sat in a folding chair near the center of the deck, long black hair tied in a loose ponytail that reached his waist. He wore a worn brown jacket over black tactical gear. The tattoo "Echo - 1" was visible on the side of his neck. He looked like he had been asleep.
He slowly opened his eyes and yawned, completely unfazed by the carnage around him.
Echo 3, the brown-skinned man with the curly hair, smirked.
"Boss, these guys keep saying the same shit. Can't understand half of it. Something about 'orders from above.'"
Echo 5 adjusted his glasses.
"Should we bring them back for proper interrogation, Leader?"
Echo 1 was about to answer when the satellite phone on the crate beside him began to ring.
The entire team went still.
A call on that phone only ever meant one thing — a direct order from the Main House.
Echo 1 picked it up without hurry.
"Yeah."
Marcus's deep, steady voice came through.
"Madam wants you back at the estate by tomorrow morning."
Echo 1's relaxed posture shifted slightly. His eyes narrowed.
"The reason?"
There was a short pause.
"It's time Master Fin meets the Echo team."
The line went dead.
Echo 1 slowly lowered the phone, staring at it.
Echo 2 turned her head from the railing, the lollipop still between her lips. Her voice was quiet, but sharp.
"Marcus?"
Echo 1 nodded once.
"He said Madam wants us to meet Master Fin."
A heavy silence fell over the deck.
The dwarf let out a disbelieving snort.
"You're fucking joking."
Echo 2 studied the leader's face, her eyes narrowing slightly.
"They've never let us near him. Not once in ten years." She paused. "Something happened."
Echo 1 finally looked up. A slow, dangerous smile spread across his face.
"Someone must've gotten tired of breathing."
He stood up, rolling his shoulders as the sea breeze tugged at his long hair.
"Pack it up," he ordered. "We're going home."
He glanced once at the kneeling pirates, then at the bloodstained deck.
"Looks like the young master finally decided to stop playing nice."
Echo 1's smile widened, cold and anticipatory.
"About damn time."
****
The Harrington Main House was quiet at 7:00 PM.
In Fin's private office, the only light came from the large monitor and the low amber glow of a desk lamp. The heavy curtains were drawn shut. A half-empty bottle of whiskey sat beside him, next to a crystal glass he had already refilled too many times.
Fin sat motionless, elbows resting on the desk, fingers loosely clasped in front of his mouth. His eyes stayed locked on the screen.
The live feed from the island was crystal clear — except for one deliberate detail.
Faces were blurred.
Only bodies could be seen. The faces of everyone on screen were digitally obscured, protecting the identities of the participants from the wider audience. But Fin didn't need to see their faces.
He knew exactly who they were.
He recognized Clara by the way she walked — the small, hesitant steps, the way her shoulders curled inward as if trying to make herself smaller, and the familiar shape of her body in that sheer black micro-dress. Even without seeing her face, he could feel her shame in every movement.
He recognized Sarah by her height and the way she kept one hand behind her, desperately trying to cover herself as she walked. And he recognized Mike instantly by his posture — the arrogant stride, the way he kept glancing back at the two women behind him with that smug satisfaction.
Even with their faces blurred, Fin could see everything.
He watched as Mike walked ahead with casual arrogance. Behind him, Clara and Sarah followed at a slower, heavier pace. Clara's sheer black microdress clung to her body like a second skin, outlining every curve. The deep V-neckline plunged almost to her navel, and the hem barely reached the tops of her thighs. Around her neck was the sleek black collar with the pulsing red light.
Fin's jaw tightened.
Even without seeing her face, he could feel her humiliation in the way she moved.
Beside her, Sarah wore thin white straps connected by delicate gold chains. The bottom was little more than a thong, leaving most of her ass exposed. She kept one hand behind her, trying in vain to shield herself from the eyes of the masked spectators they passed.
Mike glanced back at them and smirked before heading toward a large building. Masked attendants directed their group inside.
Inside, groups were being separated into different rooms. Mike's group was led to Room No. 4.
It was a wide, luxurious hall with a large round table in the center. The walls were lined with various sexual toys, bottles of oil, bowls of ice, and chocolate. The warm lighting felt completely at odds with the tension in the room.
Mike laughed as he looked around.
"Looks like they're going all out for the first round."
Clara's voice was quiet but tense.
"What do you mean by that?"
Mike turned to her with a lazy smile.
"You'll find out soon enough."
They sat in heavy silence for nearly ten minutes.
Then the door opened.
Another group entered.
Even with their faces blurred, Fin could tell it was the same family the host had pointed out yesterday — the old man, the mature woman, and the younger girl.
The old man's body language made it obvious where his eyes were going. He kept glancing toward Clara's chest and Sarah's barely covered ass before awkwardly looking away.
Mike stood up with an easy grin and walked over, extending his hand.
"Hey there. Let's talk."
He pulled the old man aside without waiting for a response.
Left near Clara and Sarah, the mature woman — Diana — turned toward them. Even without seeing her face, her body language showed genuine concern. Her daughter, Tina, stood close to her mother, clearly tense.
Diana spoke first, her voice soft but direct.
"Hello… Are you both alright?"
Clara couldn't bring herself to answer. Her throat felt too tight.
Sarah took the lead, her voice slightly shaky.
"I'm Sarah. If you don't mind me asking… were you two kidnapped too?"
Diana sighed.
"In a way," she admitted. "My husband… he's a gambler. A very bad one. One day, we received a video. He was tied up and beaten. They said if we didn't come here with my father-in-law, they would kill him." She looked down. "We came. And now we're here."
Sarah nodded slowly.
"At least you had a reason. We… we were tricked into coming."
Diana was about to ask more when the large screen on the wall suddenly lit up.
A woman wearing a white rabbit mask appeared. Her voice was smooth and disturbingly cheerful.
"Welcome to the first day of the Nexus Event, dear participants and masters. Today's opening event is quite simple."
She tilted her head slightly.
"First of all, please take your places. Both teams sit opposite each other."
Mike walked behind Clara and placed his hands on her waist, pushing her forward toward the table.
Clara stiffened and tried to pull away.
"Get your hands off me."
Mike leaned down, his lips brushing her ear. His voice was low and mocking.
"Do you want to feel the shock again, Clara? Because I can arrange that. Now sit."
Clara's body went rigid. After a tense second, she walked forward and sat down. Sarah followed silently. Across the table, Diana, Tina, and the old man took their seats as well.
The Rabbit-masked woman continued, her tone still pleasant.
"Very good. Now, before we begin, I should remind you all that every event will be broadcast live to our members. Any disobedience… any refusal to participate… will not be tolerated."
She paused for a moment, letting the words sink in.
"The collars around your necks are not just for show. We can — and will — punish you in front of everyone if necessary. So please… behave yourselves."
On the screen, Clara's body language showed clear distress. Sarah's hands were clenched tightly in her lap. Diana's posture had stiffened, while Tina looked like she was shrinking into herself.
The Rabbit-masked woman smiled behind her mask.
"Now that the rules are clear, let's move on to the event itself."
She clasped her hands together.
"This is a direct competition between both teams. It will be played in rounds, and every round offers valuable card rewards. Perform well, and your team earns them. Remember — only one team can win each round. So it's either them… or you."
A tense silence settled over the room as both teams glanced at each other.
Mike leaned in close to Clara, his lips brushing against her ear.
"You heard that?" he whispered. "If you want to win… you'd better behave."
The Rabbit-masked woman continued.
"For the first round — Public Self-Presentation."
"Each slave will stand up and introduce themselves. State your name, your relationship to your master, and then perform one act of submission toward him in front of everyone. It can be a kiss on the hand, kneeling, or saying something degrading. Be creative… or we will choose for you."
She tilted her head slightly.
"Our spectators will be rating your performance. Now then — Masters, please introduce yourselves first."
Mike stood up without hesitation. He placed both hands on the table and looked across at the opposing team with a confident smirk.
"My name is Mike," he said smoothly. "And these two women here are my slaves."
Clara's shoulders tensed visibly. Sarah kept her eyes fixed on the table, her fingers tightening around the edge of her chair.
Mike sat back down, clearly satisfied, then gestured toward the old man.
"Your turn."
Richard stood up slowly. He looked uncomfortable. After a brief hesitation, he spoke in a stiff, formal tone.
"My name is Richard Whale… These two are my family."
The moment the words left his mouth, a loud red alarm blared through the room. A sharp red light flashed above their table.
Richard froze. Diana and Tina looked around in confusion.
Mike let out a low chuckle and shook his head.
"Wrong answer."
Richard frowned.
"What do you mean?"
The Rabbit-masked woman's voice came through the speakers, calm and clinical.
"Master Richard has given an incorrect introduction. One point has been deducted from his team."
Mike leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he looked at the old man with mocking amusement.
"You should've introduced them as your slaves," he said. "Not your family. In here, there are no daughters-in-law. No granddaughters. No blood relations."
He smiled coldly.
"There are only Masters… and slaves. That's all that matters."
Richard's body stiffened. Diana's posture grew rigid with quiet anger, while Tina looked like she wanted to disappear.
Mike leaned back in his chair, thoroughly enjoying the tension.
"Try again, old man," he said with a smirk. "And this time, get it right."
**
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