Every time I think this community cannot support me anymore, and every time I'm proven wrong! The last chapter was a set-up one, and you guys liked it way more than I thought you would. Admittedly, this'll be another plot-heavy chapter, though I tried to keep it interesting. After this chapter, the Spice-O-Meter will definitely get ratcheted up a few notches. Thanks for being awesome readers, everyone.
I sound like a broken record; but keep on reaching out with comments or private feedback e-mails. Constructive critiques, reader-theories, or just to say
Hi
.
As always; consent is necessary in real-life. This is purely fiction. Obey the law. But all of you in the Constantin Crew knew that already!
"Good morning; our top story today is that authorities are on-scene investigating an apparent arson last night in Norlangarth County" the blonde anchor began. She was clad in the attire of the day; she wore a slave collar, complete with the news channel's logo on it. She was also wearing a low-cut top with a push-up bra as her wrists were visibly handcuffed to the anchor desk in front of her.
The enslaved anchor continued "Firefighters arrived on scene minutes after the inferno started, though could not save the building. There were no casualties as a result of the blaze. However, police and fire investigators are suspecting foul play as known terrorist group
The Pink Claw
has claimed responsibility for the crime. Here's a short clip, though we must warn, some of the following footage is unsettling.."
The newscast cut to a darkened background. Madam Lioness sat in center frame, the low lighting behind her obscured most of her features from view. Little else could be seen except for her suit; a black sneaking suit, with three jagged, neon-pink diagonal stripes resembling claw marks across her B-cup chest. She started her speech with a long intentional exhale through the gas mask which hid her face behind a reflective visor. She spoke with a methodical-yet-sinister tone.
"The Norlangarth Slave Trading Auction House is no more." Madam Lioness paused ominously "Let this be a warning to all men who profit from the enslavement of women;
The Pink Claw
is coming for you" Madam Lioness paused for dramatic effect.
"And when we arrive, there will be absolutely no mercy shown to any slaveholding man. Thus, you have two choices. Free your slave-women and stop their trafficking"" Madam Lioness exhales heavily through her custom mask, savoring her dynamic of Darth Vader meets Al-Qaeda "or suffer the consequences."
The newscast cut back to the captive blonde mouthpiece "And now we'll cut to a police statement on this issue, as given from the Chief of Police earlier this morning."
The newscast cut to a middle-aged man in a police uniform, standing at a podium. He read a prepared statement from the manilla folder in front of him. After reciting the basic facts of the case, he went to the spicier soundbites.
"This is a heinous act of domestic terrorism against a beloved community landmark. This atrocity will not stand, as we will expend every available resource we have to bring whoever did this to justice. Furthermore, we're also committed in recovering the lost inventory that was let out of their cages, and making sure they are handed over to their proper owners."
The police chief looked up and paused for dramatic effect; knowing how to work the media was a necessary part of the job. "So far, our arson investigation team has determined that vodka was used as an accelerant, and local reports claim that there were the sound of several off-roading vehicles used in the getaway. Citizens should report suspiciously large purchases of vodka, as well as hearing off-roading vehicles at unusual hours. Thank you" The police chief walked off stage, despite a rabble of journalists roaring up from their seats to ask questions.
Steve Sharper stopped streaming the news on his phone. He decided that enough was enough and he wanted to get an early jump on his day. He sat alone in his office; it was 4:30 am on a crisp Thursday morning. He had spent another late night at Feminine Imports LLC the night before, thus another night spent on the air mattress in the corner of his office. Time-permitting, he had tried to keep up on current events, especially if they impacted his startup, though sometimes the immense workload meant watching the news was something that fell by the wayside. Though this morning was one of those times that Steve wished he hadn't scrolled through; he could feel his stomach tie into knots.
His day had started just like the prior Saturday. He grumbled as he shuffled out of his office and down towards the staff bathroom by his mechanic's bay. He stepped into the shower stall, and cranked the handle, thus starting the frigid, calcium-heavy water pelting his body. The high pressure felt like thousands of pins and needles hitting his chest, thus helping to wake him up. After a quick suds-and-rinse, he shut off the punishing water, and patted himself dry with a towel that had clearly seen better days.
Steve sauntered back upstairs and threw a random microwave burrito into the microwave from his mini-fridge He booted up his laptop while the microwave heated up his preservative-laden breakfast.
Damn thing always takes forever
Steve lamented about his work computer.
Well, as long as the drivers and the mechanic aren't suffering like this, then it's no big deal
he rationalized.
The microwave timer went off, and Steve took that as his cue to put his work-clothes on. Steve had learned the hard way after a few office sleep-ins that the cheese in the microwave burritos is molten hot right when the microwave chimed, thus getting dressed served as a great chance to let his breakfast cool off a bit. He opted for a plain white dress shirt and some khaki's since he wasn't planning on going to the field today.
From there, Steve started checking his work e-mail. Since he was boot-strapping a start-up he opted to not have a secretary; Steve was still willing to get in early enough to check the messages and new delivery requests himself. He caught up on all of his messages, then he looked over the schedule of deliveries that needed to be made today. He printed off four copies; one for himself, and one for each of his three drivers. He clipped all of the schedules to an old-fashioned clipboard. He then crossed out deliveries that each driver didn't need to go to; it was best practice to not have drivers stacked on top of each other, and to send them out in different directions.
Before he knew it, it was 6am, and his employees had begun to file into the building. By 6:10am, they were all gathered around the bulletin board near the maintenance bay. Steve had made it a point to still communicate with his team daily and face-to-face. He knew as a business owner that these days wouldn't last forever, so he cherished them while he still could. Steve trotted down the stairs leading to his office and strode over to his employees.
"Hey guys. Good morning!" Steve radiated.
"Mornin' Steve" Roy returned. Roy was Steve's most experienced driver and the first employee Steve hired. Roy was a portly middle-aged man with greying hair that came out the back of his company-provided baseball cap. "Have you heard about that fire last night?"
"Yeah, some crazy shit" said Carlos the mechanic, a lanky Hispanic man in his late-twenties with curly black hair and a goatee.
Steve knew that he'd have to address the events of the previous night. "Yes, the Norlangarth Auction House was burned down last night. They think it was an arson" Steve started. He noticed that his employees had started to look around at each other "Despite the fact that they were a big account for us, we are pretty well diversified. We still have plenty of orders to fill. Don't worry, the company will survive, and nobody is losing their jobs."
"Thank fuck for that news!" Brett, one of Steve's driver's, said. Brett was a well-built young man in his early thirties; 5-foot-10 with enough grip strength to crush an unopened beer can, and a perpetual five-o'clock shadow to boot.
Steve handed out clipboards to Roy, Brett, and his other driver George. George was another veteran driver with twenty years on the road, one who resembled in both appearance and voice late-career Marlboro Man. Steve turned to his mechanic Carlos "I trust you have your maintenance schedule for today?"
"Yeah, I got you" Carlos shot back with a smooth confidence. Steve felt a bit more relaxed knowing that he could delegate the maintenance schedule to Carlos.
"You're
The Man,
Carlos" Steve praised before looking back at his drivers. "Any other hot-seat items?" After receiving shaken heads and blank stares, Steve concluded with "Alright guys, let's go execute!"
Carlos and the drivers broke the huddle with an enthusiastic clap after yelling
