In an undesirable country

The impact wasn’t an explosion, but a series of brutal jolts that slammed Mackenzie against her harness, leaving deep red welts on her shoulders and thighs. The roar of the engines dying out left a deathly silence in the cabin, broken only by stifled sobs and the hiss of air escaping through the door seals.

Mackenzie, still trembling and trying to cover her nakedness with her arms after releasing the safety catch, looked out the window. The landscape was desolate: a strip of cracked asphalt devoured by infinite dunes under a merciless sun. They had landed on an abandoned runway, in the middle of nowhere.

"Evacuation!" Vanessa shouted, though her voice lacked its former confidence. "Open the doors!"

Mackenzie lunged for the main door lever. As she pulled it, the slide inflated with a roar, but the air that rushed in wasn't that of a rescue; it was a stifling heat thick with sand and the scent of rancid incense. She stood there on the threshold, a pale-skinned, blonde figure exposed to the scorching sun, waiting to see emergency teams.

But what she saw emerging from the dunes made her blood run cold.

A group of burly men, dressed in dark robes with their faces partially covered, approached the aircraft with firm strides. They didn't bring first-aid kits, or water, or blankets for the women who, like Mackenzie, were shivering with fear after the crash. What they carried in their hands made Mackenzie’s heart stop: leather shackles lined with silk and golden metal collars.

One of the men, wearing an insignia of a black and gold flag on his shoulder, climbed the ramp and stopped in front of them. Mackenzie recognized the flag immediately from the aviation manuals she had read during her training.

"That... that is the emblem of the Al-Sahr Protectorate," one of the veteran flight attendants whispered, her voice breaking. "Oh God... Vanessa, there are no international laws here."

Vanessa, attempting to maintain a posture of authority despite her nakedness, took a step forward, covering her breasts with one arm.

"I am the cabin chief," she said haughtily. "I demand protection for my crew."

The man in the robe did not respond with words. With a swift movement, he grabbed her by the neck and **** her to kneel on the aircraft's carpet.

"On this soil, woman, you are chief of nothing," he declared in a deep voice. "According to the Article of the Mainland, you have landed as property of the State, having no guardian to claim you."

The man fixed his eyes on Mackenzie. Her skin, now marked by the chafing of the landing harness, glistened under the desert light.

"This one," the man said, pointing at her, "is of an exceptional class. The Chief of Customs will pay well for such a rare piece."

Before she could scream, she felt the rough hands of two guards. Without ceremony, they **** her to her feet and snapped the first silk shackle around her right wizard. The contrast of the soft silk against the men's brute strength made her realize that her nightmare on the plane had only been the prologue.

Vanessa, beside her, was being chained in the same manner, the arrogance wiped from her face and replaced by pure terror. She was no longer the tormentor; now, both were simply emergency merchandise.

"Walk," the guard ordered, tugging the chain. "The transit market does not wait."

Mackenzie stepped out into the blinding sun, completely exposed, feeling the metal of the collar tightening around her neck, realizing that the desert surrounding her was now her vast and beautiful prison.