Second activity of the subscription

At noon, May appeared at the cafeteria door. She didn’t need to say anything. Just a nod of her head. The order was clear. There were no protests, only the tired weight of bodies that surrendered once again.

She guided them down hallways Magi didn't know, descending to a lower level where the noise of the water pumps was a dull roar. May opened an unmarked metal door.

The room was white, lit by cold neon lights that left no shadows. It smelled of antiseptic and expensive perfume. In the center, three reclining dentist's chairs waited, next to a table full of products and metal tools that gleamed under the light.

"Welcome to the beauty operating room," May said, pulling on a pair of black latex gloves with a sharp snap.

She started with Magi. She applied a cold, shiny gel to her shoulders, belly, and thighs. Her expert, impersonal hands moved over her skin as if she were preparing a fish for display.

"A blank mind is your best ally," May murmured. "Disconnect. It's not you. It's just a body. An object. Objects don't feel shame."

Lara, from her chair, opened her eyes.

"It's easier if you don't fight it," she said, her voice monotonous. "It's only for a little while. Think of something else."

Cloe watched, paralyzed, until May signaled her to occupy the third chair. She lay down, rigid. May applied the same treatment, and Cloe didn't resist. Her tears silently slid down her temples.

Then, May went to the built-in closet. When she opened it, she didn’t reveal costumes, but three sets of armor for a perverse war. She held them with reverence, like a priest showing the relics of a ritual.

May approached Magi first. In her hands hung what looked like a metamorphic fish skin: a bikini of deep, dark green metallic scales, like the sea abyss. Each scale, individual and cold to the touch, was set into a latex base that would adhere to her skin like a second epidermis. May applied it meticulously, pressing each piece against her torso and hips, until the suit came to life on her body, outlining every curve with obscene precision. Then, the straps. They were black leather, thick and rigid, treated with oil that smelled of a stable. They crossed her chest and back, slightly oppressing her, and ended in heavy nickel metal rings that struck her hips with a cold weight. They were not adornments; they were anchors.

Cloe was next. May unfolded a garment before her that looked like it had been pulled from swamp mud. A loincloth of synthetic leather, rough and of an earthy brown that would scrape her skin with every movement. The top was a cruel simulation of modesty: two triangles of thick, stiff mesh, as rough as a loofah sponge, which were tied at her neck with a thin rope. It left her sides, back, and belly completely exposed. Finally, the cape. May placed a short capelet made of artificial, dark feathers on her shoulders that were damp to the touch. When she moved her shoulders, the feathers stuck to her skin like dead seaweed, dripping a cold dampness that ran down her chest. They smelled of stagnant water.

For Lara, the process was the most clinical. May unfolded a one-piece bodysuit of transparent smoky vinyl. The material crackled dully as she stretched it, like the sound of a surgical glove. Lara sat up and put it on as if it were an evening gown. The thick, shiny vinyl sealed around her body with an adhesive whisper, conforming to every contour like a sweaty film. It blurred intimate details behind a hazy veil but revealed everything else as a distorted and suggestive shadow. Finally, the collar. It wasn't an accessory; it was a label. Wide, black leather, with a heavy bronze plate engraved with "SPECIMEN L-07." May closed it around her neck with a metallic click. Lara didn't even blink.

Once dressed, May sprayed them with a cold spray that made the scales, vinyl, and feathers gleam under the neon lights, as if they were freshly polished pieces.

"Ready for your debut," she announced, with a smile of absolute satisfaction.

She opened a second door at the back of the room. Behind it, the "private route behind the waterfalls" was shrouded in a faint bluish light that flickered like the reflection of water. The sound of an artificial waterfall, deafening and oppressive, filled the room. And in front of them, standing like specters in the gloom, a small group of five members was waiting. They wore impeccable suits and held fine crystal glasses. Their gazes, avid and evaluating, swept over them from head to toe, studying every detail of their bodies, which had been turned into merchandise. There was no anxiety in their eyes, only the cold curiosity of collectors examining a new acquisition.

Magi felt how the metal rings on her hips weighed like anchors. Cloe noticed that the feathers on her shoulders dripped onto her chest. Lara mentally adjusted her disassociation. Defeat was not a feeling; it was a fact. And the night had just begun.