Week 1: Sunday, 9th Dec 2029, Afternoon

As I savored each bite of breakfast, I continued drafting Vivian's training protocol. The document was both daunting and exhilarating to create. Usually my subjects arrived already enslaved, their fates sealed the moment they enters my dungeon, Vivian will prove to be an welcomed challenge.

"Vivian's going to be surprisingly easy despite her status as a free woman," I mused between bites, tapping my stylus against the tablet. "Too sheltered, too naive. Mikhail will be a bigger challenge, that bastard's been hardened by years of raiding. Even when Vivian serves him to us on a legal platter, breaking him won't be simple."

Jennifer's eyes lit up with predatory interest. "I've handled dozens like him. Some even more masculine, more hardened. Give me a few weeks and he'll be the most delicate little sissy you've ever seen, more feminine than Vivian will ever be." She smiled with her usual confidence.

It was sometimes difficult remembering that before I'd gotten my hands around her cute ass, Jennifer had been the most sought-after sissy trainer in the old world. Though I suppose that was more a testament to my own skills , if I could tame the tamer, what did that make me?

"Enough reminiscing," I said, setting down my fork and fixing her with an expectant look. "We'll deal with our raider friend when his debt comes due. Right now I want your post-session analysis of Vivian. I hope your report writing skills are as sharp as your sissy training abilities."

"Yes, Master," Jennifer replied, her smile shifting from predatory to eager as she prepared to deliver her professional assessment.

After I dismiss Jennifer to start on her paper work, I spent the rest of the morning updating my business partners on Mikhail's impending downfall. The businessman in me knows it's better to leave crumbs for others, especially when I'm claiming the lion's share.

Mikhail had always been more symbol than substance, a relic from his old raiding days trying to play politics in a place that had moved beyond brute ****. His mounting debts and gambling addiction were red flags any competent creditor should have spotted, yet his reputation as an Iron Fang veteran kept everyone paralyzed. Fear of his supposed connections, his rumored muscle, his potential for ****, all smoke and mirrors propping up a man who'd been living on borrowed time.

I'd acquired his debts for pennies on the principal, knowing what others couldn't see: that Mikhail was already finished, just too proud to lie down. My business partners probably thought I was either currying favor or making a foolish power play. They'd learn soon enough how wrong they were.

When Vivian's message arrived, it confirmed what I'd expected. The Ink Blades had encountered close to zero resistance at Mikhail's residence. The silver fang raider had crumbled like wet paper the moment real authority knocked on his door. Two years he'd been bluffing his way through the arcology, and no one had called him on it simply because his old raider connections kept feeding him fresh merchandise that he consistently undersold. His creditors must have tolerated his mounting debts and erratic behavior because Mikhail's lack of business acumen meant they could acquire quality slaves at below-market rates, the fool was essentially subsidizing their profits with his own incompetence.

I changed into simple clothes and wore a mask before leaving my penthouse. Mikhail might not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but I wouldn't make the mistake of underestimating a cornered animal. Who knows what final gambit he might have prepared, some loyal fool waiting to take me out in a blaze of misguided glory. Hopefully, once I acquired some proper bodyguards at the auction, I could dispense with these theatrical disguises.

Mikhail's headquarters occupied prime real estate in the arcology's commercial underbelly, near the main entrance where visitors and locals mingled to conduct business. When I arrived, a considerable crowd had gathered to gawk at the spectacle, black Ink Blade vehicles had cordoned off the entire block, their angular forms bristling with tactical equipment.

I pushed through the crowd of rubberneckers, removing my mask as I approached the perimeter. The guards recognized me immediately, Vivian had clearly briefed them who has hired them. Without a word, they stepped aside and gestured toward the estate's main entrance.

"Captain's waiting for you by the door, sir," one of them said with professional deference.

The woman standing at attention near the entrance was impossible to miss. Tall and imposing with the rigid bearing of career military, she possessed the kind of presence that commanded immediate respect. Her uniform was immaculate, dark tactical fabric with silver rank insignia gleaming on her collar and shoulders, identifying her as a senior Ink Blade officer. Sharp Slavic features framed pale blue eyes that missed nothing, while her platinum blonde hair was pulled back in a severe regulation knot. Everything about her radiated cold efficiency and barely contained ****.

"You must be our client," she said in accented English, her voice carrying the crisp authority of someone accustomed to being obeyed without question. Her pale eyes assessed me with professional detachment. "The target has been secured. Miss Vivian's team is conducting asset valuation as we speak. Should his holdings prove insufficient, the target himself will serve as collateral."

I couldn't help but smile at the clinical efficiency. "With the mountain of debt he's accumulated, you might as well draft his **** contract now." I extended my hand. "I'm Moxie, though I suspect you already know that."

She clasped my hand with a firm grip. "Captain Svetlana Ivanovskaya. I oversee Covenant contract enforcement operations, mainly securing liquidation orders, though we take on specialized assignments."

"Ah, so shouldn't this fall under standard Covenant services?" I asked, gesturing at the impressive tactical display surrounding us.

Svetlana's lips curved in the barest suggestion of a smile. "Under normal circumstances, yes. Standard liquidation requires a Covenant judge's authorization and follows proper legal channels." She paused, adjusting her tactical gloves with practiced precision. "Your situation benefits from Miss Vivian's... expedited processing."

"Time is more valuable than money," I replied. "So I'm not complaining."

At that moment, Vivian emerged from the estate's entrance, tablet in hand and looking grimly satisfied. Her professional demeanor had returned.

"Asset valuation is complete," she announced, approaching us with measured steps. "Even with the most generous estimates, Mikhail's holdings cover barely thirty percent of his outstanding debts. The remainder will require... personal compensation."

I felt a familiar thrill of anticipation. "How unfortunate for him. I suppose it's time our former raider met his new owner."

Svetlana gestured toward one of the armored vans with military precision. "Right this way."

We crossed the cordoned area, curious onlookers craning their necks to catch glimpses of the proceedings. Svetlana's hand moved to the van's rear door, pausing to look at both Vivian and me with professional courtesy.

"Standard restraint protocols," she explained before releasing the heavy locks. The door swung open with a metallic clang, revealing the interior's stark reality.

There sat Mikhail, and the sight was more satisfying than I'd anticipated. Heavy steel shackles bound his wrists to a reinforced bar running along the van's wall, the chains short enough to prevent any meaningful movement. His ankles bore matching restraints connected by a thick metal bar. A thick leather belt secured around his waist connected to both wrist and ankle chains, creating a web of bondage that rendered him completely helpless.

The once-proud raider kept his head bowed, hair hanging over his face like a curtain of shame. His shoulders sagged with the weight of defeat, yet something in his rigid posture suggested the embers of defiance still burned within. He didn't look up at our approach, didn't acknowledge our presence, a man choosing silence over surrender, though the distinction hardly mattered now.

"Look who we have here," I said, unable to keep the satisfaction from my voice. "I bet the last time we spoke, you didn't expect our next meeting would find you in this predicament."

Mikhail remained stubbornly silent, but his body betrayed what his pride refused to acknowledge. The loose home clothes he'd been wearing when the Ink Blades took him, a simple cotton shirt and athletic shorts. left little to the imagination. Without underwear beneath those thin shorts, his body's treacherous response to his predicament was impossible to hide.

"Well, well," I chuckled, genuinely delighted by this unexpected development. "Looks like our fierce raider is more excited about his new circumstances than he'd care to admit. Tell me, Mikhail, are you already fantasizing about what your new master has planned for you?"

A flush of humiliation crept up his neck as he shifted awkwardly in his restraints, desperately trying to adjust his position to conceal the obvious bulge straining against the fabric. The chains rattled with his futile movements, each sound emphasizing his complete helplessness.

I leaned closer, savoring every moment of his degradation. "Since you seem so eager, I should start planning your wardrobe. What's your preference for chastity cage colors? I'm thinking pink would complement your complexion beautifully."

His fists clenched within the shackles, knuckles white with suppressed rage and shame. Whether his arousal stemmed from the helplessness itself or some twisted fantasy of **** didn't matter, he's fate has been sealed.

"I suppose our little sissy is feeling shy," I said, stepping back with theatrical disappointment. "Deliver him to my dungeon. Jennifer will be waiting to begin his orientation, or should I say reorientation."