#tpof x gender neutral reader

[gvtted-ratz]

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THOMAS

Tom/Thomas x Hacker!GN!Reader

Last Edited: 11/07/2024

TW: mocking, drugging, imprisonment, kidnapping, illegal auctioning, human trafficking

Requested: No.

Word Count: 3,721

AO3 LINK -> HERE

Notes from gvtted-ratz (writer/creator): Tom, our beloved. There isn’t much, if any, info on him, so we did our best. If you don’t enjoy the headcanons we’ve established here, we don’t mind you clicking off the fic. We do suggest looking up Nazca and its culture. It was pretty interesting to read about.

Notes from @rppik (editor/co-writer): a quote from when I was editing: “Rat, you self-indulgent meta-ass whore, PLEASE”

“I assume this is everything?” You can hear Blue and Red getting shifty at your words. They, as well as you, have been waiting for the introduction to cease to start your biddings.

“That it is, yes! Would my esteemed customers like to let this lowly auctioneer know what goods you wish to purchase?”

Yes, that is the question, isn’t it? Who will you be bidding on to take with you?

》YOU HAVE SELECTED THOMAS 《

“Blue window? Which do you wish to take with you? I’ll make sure to have it all written down!” The Auctioneer asks, motioning towards a metal door. Behind it, you’re sure there’s someone there to take notes of what items are purchased, they will be shipped to, as well as who wasn’t bought.

“Oh! I’d love to have that Thomas boy! I’ll do 140 for him! And perhaps Mason for 250?” Blue’s window lights up. She sounds excited to go first with her purchases. Then again, she always complained when she didn’t get to go before everyone else; better she goes now than later.

“Very well. How about the red window? Whom will you be taking?” The Auctioneer's  facial expression is unable to be seen behind her bandage-like mask, though the way she talks with such joy only highlights how well she is at her job.

“200 on Machete, 340 each for the Goffard boys,” Red says, window lighting up.

“What the fuck! Fuck you!” Derek says, Matt looking just as livid as his brother. Machete doesn’t look to be phased at being chosen by Red; his face stays calm despite this very unlucky situation he’s found himself in.

Those that haven’t been chosen appear to be less tense, relieved to not be bought. On the other hand, of Blue’s selected prizes, Mason looks ready to kill; his eyes looking this way and that, body tensed like a large predator ready to pounce. Tom's widened eyes, however, are shiny with fearful, unshed tears.

It appears Blue wants to have someone she can “put in their place” while also having somewhat of an obedient mutt.

“Green window? Would you kindly tell this lowly Auctioneer your choice?”

“150 for Tom,” your warbled voice makes said man flinch at your words. You can see his clasped hands shaking.

“What! But, Green! I want him,” Blue whines, making a distorted sigh spill from your lips. A few of the products’ eyes have that “oh God, now what” look to them. “200!”

“Nearing your budget. 300,” you retort, no hesitation in your tone. You hear a few huffs from her window, the blue glow only highlighting how spoiled she acts despite her age.

“Fine! I’ll take that dirty cop for 150 then!” You can mentally hear the ‘humph!’ after her words, leading to you to sigh once more. Blue is probably the Bidder you like the least, due to her spoiled tone paired with the inability to actually fight for items she deems worthy of her money. You already know she can’t afford the things she wants, compared to you or Red, that is. How she acts only adds fuel to that raging fire.

“‘Dirty cop!? Who the fuck do you think you are, you stupid bitch!” Said dirty cop is now making a fuss, making you smash your hand into your window to silence him. The rattling directs his gaze to your area while others try to look anywhere but.

“Auctioneer, the bidding is done. I will send you the money as agreed upon, including the extra,” you declare, the modulator only making your voice sound emotionless.

“Oh, yes! Of course! Thank you for joining us here today! As ordered, those who were not purchased will be dropped off in or near their respective towns!” A high-pitched whine rings out as a clear mist fills the room, falling from the spouts attached to its ceiling.

The Auctioneer stands away from the shackled group, seemingly watching on as they yell at everyone around them; cornered animals always tend to lash out when there’s no escape. While they proceed to collapse in heaps on the metal ground below, you, The Auctioneer, and your fellow buyers remain standing; you’re not sure if The Auctioneer has a resistance or a built-in filter to keep out the gas used to put the products to sleep. You do know that the buyers’ rooms have a separate system from the main room, holding its own spouts for the gas in case there happens to be a violent mishap.

Just as quickly as the gas started, it clears just as fast; the spouts no longer whine from releasing the unknown chemicals in the air. Dressed similarly to The Auctioneer, employees of hers enter through the only metal door leading into the room. They grab both the purchased and the unsold, hauling them out for shipment; those that have not been chosen will be carted off as The Auctioneer had stated previously, able to be bought again at a later date. Each of the merchandise will be connected to a drip, keeping them under as they’re delivered to their respective drop-off locations.

You feel a small amount of glee at seeing your chosen target being placed in a wheelchair, IV hooked into the meat of his espresso-brown arm. While he doesn’t know it, he’ll be awaiting your arrival as is per policy; there must be a positive identification of the commodity before the Auction House's job is labeled as complete, with this being a precaution in the case of the delivery being in the wrong area.

“All has been settled, yes?” The Auctioneer’s polite speech forces you to stop staring after your new companion. “Would you kindly wire your payments at this time?” Her customer-service tone hasn’t dialed down nor increased during the entirety of the show’s presentation; it simply remains as prim as possible without grating on your nerves.

“The amount should arrive shortly. Exactly as agreed upon.” You present your burner, clicking the keys to gain access to an offshore account you’ve set up prior to this visit. If one were to try tracking it, somehow getting past your secured firewalls and the encryptions you spent days installing, the trail would only lead to some sap who has a very disturbing interest in illegal images containing unsavoury depictions of people’s mutilated bodies. No skin off your back– literally or figuratively, in this case.

Your distorted-sounding words hold true, as some device beyond the metal door The Auctioneer is standing beside lets out a ding . Hearing it, she glances over at it before nodding, deeming your actions acceptable.

“Thank you, Green. I have hope from the bottom of my heart that your lovely purchase with bear the ripest of fruit for your taking!” You only give her a nod from the glass, knowing she cannot see into it unless you were to talk, forcing the light to shine on your form. You don’t bother to stay any longer, deciding to leave the little boxed room. Likewise, you’d rather not listen to any concerns nor issues the other buyers may have; such instances usually end up in heated arguments or death of said buyer, and you're not particularly interested either way.

With the door closing behind you, another figure dressed like one of the many previously seen employees steps out in front to guide you. There are no words exchanged, the only sounds you hear being that of your own footsteps, paired with your guide’s own muffled breathing through the gauzy wrappings around their head.

Nearing the end of the hallways, the guide opens the dark-wooden door before you, stepping aside to allow you to walk through. Your pace stays consistent, neither slowing nor speeding up. Brick steps turn into a worn gravel path under your shoes as you approach your vehicle. The keys are pressed into your awaiting hand by another member of staff, dressed like the others before them. The rental is easy to gain access to, the engine starting with ease now that you’ve put the key in the ignition. As you drive off, you don’t look back, looking forward to approaching your place of work. You’re sure that by the time you arrive, your chosen prize will be there waiting for you, unknowingly in his sleeping state, of course.

-------------------------------------

The black van parked in front of the dilapidated garage you call your workplace almost makes you chuckle. It’s hardly inconspicuous though the van is needed to transport goods like the one you’ve purchased; it only makes the image of a kidnapping, or even a body dumping event, brighter in your mind’s eye. Maybe if it was part of some sort of amateur fanfiction made by a sleep-deprived author, you’d have thought more about the vehicle’s design or the fact that you’re at a very odd location after visiting a human trafficking auction to purchase someone. As it were, you had better things to preoccupy your mind with.

You park the rental close to the van, exiting it to approach the back of the dark car. The back doors swing open, an employee of the auction house opening them from the inside. They gesture at the incapacitated man, allowing your hidden eyes to glance over his form.

The IV is still inserted in his median antebrachial vein, or the superficial vein of the forearm; it’s one of the most common places one inserts an IV. He’s been strapped down on a gurney, keeping him in place during the entire ride here; if he were to wake up during transportation, he wouldn’t have been able to escape with all the leather straps keeping him held down. The man hasn’t been changed out of the white tank top or blue shorts, glasses still on his face.

With a quick nod at the worker to signal your approval, they start the process of getting him prepped for you. They remove all the bonds, drip taken out afterwards, and have one of the bulkier employees carry him over their shoulder like a sack of grains.

You step to the side, allowing them to exit their van, just to lead them into the dilapidated garage. Rubbish, dust piles, as well as weeds decorate the ground before you. While there is a house attached to this abandoned hole, you don’t use it. The house has more damage to it than the garage itself, all thanks to some squatters; there may have been a few drunk, teenage party animals who pitched in too, though that remains unproven. There’s no use in trying to clean up the rest of the place, the garage being the most stable despite its looks; there’s still electricity running through the place, leading to your computer set-up, including a portable heater for when the nights get a little too chilling.

You motion towards a spot in the corner of the room with a dog bed on the floor to have some cushion against the concrete ground. A few blankets are thrown haphazardly near it, the portable heater pointing towards the corner. Along the wall, there are some old pipes, carrying water to the shower a few feet away.

To you, the place looks more like a basement than some abandoned garage, and you can’t help but think you got lucky when nabbing this place. With it purchased under one of your many aliases, the trespassing has been cut down greatly; a few shots from a hidden gun does wonders on chasing them away too.

The business-casual dressed worker sets your merchandise on the dog bed as you gesture towards said spot, being careful as to not cause any damages. Those who aren’t careful with purchased goods tend to disappear, as is stated in The Auctioneer’s policy; only the best is expected, after all.

With your new companion disposed of in his respective spot, you give the worker a dismissive wave. You don’t have to watch them leave, hearing their footsteps retreat. You approach your desk, pulling open the bottom drawer to find your desired items. Shoving aside a few snacks, you pull out a pair of handcuffs, and a chain hook connected to a heavy-duty chain; the chain gives two feet of length if used correctly. With your items acquired, you kick the drawer closed.

You approach the unconscious man, knowing he won’t be that way for long. You loop the chain around the pipe, using the hook to lock it in place. With the chain secured, you put one of the chain loops in one of the handcuffs, tightening the cuff until you can’t click the metal any farther. With everything now set up, you lock the cuff around your prize’s wrist; it isn’t tight enough to cut into the meat of his wrist, but it will cause bruising if he yanks on it.

Now that your possession is secured, you throw one of the discarded blankets over him in some semblance of care for the man. A ping from your computer notifies you of a possible correspondence. Leaving the man to continue with his rest, you instead place your focus on work. The office chair is pulled out, creaking with your weight as you plop down in it. A click of your mouse causes the multitude of monitors to light up. Your helmet provides cover from the bright lights, the tinted lens serving its purpose well.

The clacking of your keycaps fills the rotting room, replying to messages from clients about any delays or issues they may be concerned about. Other responses are to those like you, sending out warnings on which clients to avoid and what people to not try messing with when it comes to their valuable privacy. A familiar last name comes up in those encryptions, leading to you sending one to those you’ve worked with: Goffard. Auction. Bought. Both. Location Unknown . You knew the moment you heard that last name, it wouldn’t be long before there would be reports in the hidden parts of the web about it.

Father. Killings. Watch out. Another code says, the word of caution making a warbled hum leave you.

Other Buyers. Not User. Safe. That’s your last response, seemingly making the others let up. Perhaps they thought you had bought the men, but with your short messages, their worries are put at ease. You’re sure these correspondences will be sent to the men’s father, only leading him down another path, as two of his heirs are missing. That is none of your concern, however, as people like you are highly sought after. You wouldn’t be surprised if he asks for aid from one of you; he may or may not care for his sons, but he certainly will care for his business and image.

A gasp not far from you alerts you to your captive. You turn to look towards your right, hands not leaving the keyboard. Tom has huddled up close to the pipes, staring at you with wide brown eyes; his pupils seem contracted, merely pinpricks with how he shakes in terror. To see such small pupils almost makes you proud of your apparent ability to intimidate without even trying, though you usually see dilated ones for those in fear. Maybe it truly does just vary from person to person.

“Rise and shine, Sweetheart,” you adopt a mocking tone despite the modulator forcing it to sound monotone.

“How long was I..?” He asks, though it’s more hesitant than anything. You find it cute that he thinks there’ll be some sort of repercussions for possessing curiosity.

“A few hours, give or take. Nearly the entire day, maybe. Then again, it’s hard to tell considering I haven’t kept track of the time,” your insincere chagrin is coated in the surgery sweetness of falsehood; if it had been an actual treat, it would have rotted your teeth out. 

“What do you want from me?” Tom sounds a little more confident with this question; it’s not by much, if you’re being honest.

“Companionship, a pet, someone to complain to, and whatever else I want you to be,” you’re blunt with the answer, no use sugar-coating why you purchased him. “Believe it or not, Tom , it tends to get very quiet here. Unless I’m dealing with a very crass client. Then there’s screaming from them and shit-talking from me.” You put emphasis on his name, showing that you do, in fact, know it. He likely doesn’t even know the half of how much you know about him; the summary The Auctioneer gave you couldn’t cover the array of other things you’ve found out about him.

With some digging, you knew his parents came all the way from the city of Nazca, stationed on the southern coast of Peru, leaving before he was conceived. Following their trail further, you found that his parents now reside in Eatonia, Saskatchewan of Canada. Looking a bit more into Tom himself, you saw that he was born and raised there, only moving to a more university based town after his high school graduation. You did have someone take a few pictures of his dorm in your place; at first, you were unsure if Thomas practiced anything relating to Nazca culture, but the few hand-made pottery and ceramic items placed around show he still has a connection. You also spied a few small plants in his dorm, grown by his own hands, if the dates on the hand-made plant pots said anything about that; there were even care instructions next to each one.

From your own research into Nazca culture, you knew there was an emphasis placed on agriculture as well as an array of crafts like pottery, ceramics, and textiles. Even as a full-time college student pursuing media development centered around sound design, he still has time to stay connected to those before him.

“You won’t be letting me go, will you?” Tom sounds devastated at this revelation, his words rousing you from your silent recollection of your findings on him. At least he caught on quick enough without you having to spell it out for him.

“I wouldn’t buy you just to throw you out. What a waste of money,” your scoff can be heard through the helmet. He looks to be cowed at the sound, making that small bit of pride nestle close to your heart. You look back over at him, watching his shaking form. A loud sigh spills from your lips, catching his attention. “Behave and your little spot will be upgraded. I’ll even let you continue your college courses. Online, of course, and monitored carefully. I don’t need you running off the moment you think you taste freedom.”

Your words seem to be enough to comfort Tom, his eyes shining at the idea of having some semblance of normalcy despite the circumstances, seeming to recognize that this is a far better fate than he might have received otherwise as an unwilling captive.

“I’ll- I can behave! I promise I will!” His eager words make you nod.

“I’ll hold you to those words, Thomas. Remember, I have eyes and ears everywhere . So long as you behave, you’ll get whatever you want.” His nod seals the deal, leading you to go back towards your work. If everything works out, he’ll be more than some glorified pet in this run-down shit-hole.

-------------------------------------

“How was your day out?” Tom sits on your couch, laptop in hand, with notebooks spread across your coffee-table.

“You know how I always complain about my clients, yeah?” You flop down next to him, spreading out on the couch. Ever since you bought him from that auction, he’s kept his word; no running, no sending SOS messages through his email to family or college, or screaming for help when you do take him out of your flat. In fact, you never even had to hurt or manhandle him in any way to keep him from fleeing. Due to this, you’ve kept your word. Instead of that shit-hole of a garage, he’s been moved to your own apartment. From some pet to a possible friend, he’s been living with you for nearly a year now. You buy him whatever he wants, giving him anything he asks for. All he has to do, in return, is stay.

“You did mention this specific one two days ago. Is she complaining again?” He asks, writing some notes down. Your scoff makes him glance at you for a second before continuing with his work.

“More like trying to get me to redo the entire 143-page document I created after saying they wanted every little piece of info I could gather on her target. She says it’s too much, but won’t pay me to cut down and summarize the information.” You adjust yourself so you’re leaning against his side, watching him work. Tom doesn’t even react to your touch as you keep talking. “Like, what do you mean you want me to do more work without being paid for it? That’s not happening. You can find someone else to redo my work if you’re that upset with it.”

“As you said, she can find someone else if she won’t pay you. You did what she asked, so that's on her for giving you the wrong instructions.” There’s a pause as he stops his note-taking. You watch him collect himself as he tries to find the words to express what he wants. “Can I… Go out later today?”

“Take your phone with you,” it’s more of a demand than anything, and Tom knows it. You can’t risk losing him if he does leave. 

“Of course! I… I wouldn’t leave it behind. You told me you have eyes everywhere…” There’s acceptance in his words, knowing that you’d find him no matter what.

“Good. Then you can go out. Make sure to be careful. Worse comes to worst, you’re hurt, and I have to get my hands dirty to make sure it doesn’t happen again.” Your hands twitch at the thought of having to take another life to ensure Tom is off limits. You’ve already made it clear within your informant group through a series of warnings and threats.

“And if I’m dead?” It’s asked casually, almost like he expects to die on one of his trips.

“The only way that happens is if I allow it.”

》START OVER?《

[liplinerloser]

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[teresalace]

I wrote this jokingly 😉TPOF spoilers, Machete x reader- Sucker ending

▪︎ Warning: Oral technically, death, machete being machete, gender neutral reader, desperation. Word count: 1474. - 10th june 2022

You were slowly dehydrated. Oh that wasn't all.

Throat painfully parched when swallowing, grimness all over your skin, the air was unbearably hot and humid as the morning sun, there barely any strength left in you as you continued huffing and running, probably looking like a fish out of water, across the desert sand.

Blindly going in any direction for cover, to survive, to escape, to find a place to hide; from them. The hunters.

You've been lucky so far while waiting it out in the fissure, cooling yourself down, doing breathing exercises that did little to help but distracted you at least. Everything was going to be fine. So you hoped until nearby, a bone chilling scream ripped through the peaceful silence, closely followed by a man's rugged laugh.

Squeezing your eyes shut to the world and noises of struggles, you felt yourself shaking. 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry–' the only mantra you recited over and over in soft breaths, a crushing guilt weighing in your heart at the fact you didn't do anything.

'You knew you could've save someone, instead you chose to be a coward': said the furious voice inside. You chose to unhear it, automatically blaming yourself for everything that happens was just going to chip away at your sanity— so you willingly became a coward. Surviving suddenly became a top priority.

You stayed a little longer in a fetal position, long enough to see the sky dyed orangery with trails of yellow and red. Not knowing the screams had stopped at some point in time, the footsteps too. Yet you still hear it from time to time on repeat in your head.

One prey down, meaning including you, 3 was left. Mentally speaking, with each passing heart beat, hour or minute or however much time had passed by, you practically could feel your luck was running out.

In trying to get up to check whether you were truly alone, you fell accidentally onto your butt from your knees buckling. Hah. Is this how a heatstroke feels like? A grimaced smile appeared on your face as you stifled a laugh, It was morbidly comedic in a way.

From the dusty sand beneath your fingertips, the cooling breezes whipping by, and the pulsating dryness in your chest, dried sweat on your forehead. Reality couldn't feel any more realer as you stared into the setting sun.

Nothing felt real to you in that moment. A small blessing.

The outdoors was never an option you'd consider, too terrifying to imagine even camping; the unpredictability of nature and many dangers of the wilderness, the idea of not being alone in the middle of anywhere unsettled you to no ends— noisy bugs and critters at night, no doubt waiting to crawl inside your safety tent when left unguarded— those thoughts made fear rush through your blood that would've kept you up from enjoying any activities.

It wasn't just a preference to stay within your comfort zone in a cozy air-conditioned office or to spend your vacation days lazing inside with some books and family bonding, this introverted lifestyle chose you and you couldn't dare imagine it changing… But sometimes, a cruel part of yourself lets your mind wander off to the "what if?" scenarios— a torture to think about, an absolute nightmare.

Though running for your life in the desert, legs heavy, burning feet digging in the sand and dirt for leverage, there was no denying you were having a nightmare right now. Then you just need to wake up.

Simple.

Impossible, in your current exhausted condition, it's not as if you had any choice as you woke up less clothed than the night before, being auctioned off like an object in the dark then waking up once again in the worst place possible. The desert.

Ever since you were little you never liked the heat, to be fair that wasn't the only thing you disliked. Somewhat of a personal vendetta against the sun and anything related to the outside world.

You couldn't help it, comfort had been your priority, always. Maybe you've been spoiled for far too long.

Involuntarily you shivered, whether from the gut wrenching hunger or thirst, all sensations within your body blurred together. And in another moment, you realized at the same time as the icey-chill seeping into your bones, it was already night. Though looking around, no one was in sight, it wouldn't be wise to stick around one area.

With that in mind, you groggily got up, arms cramping, thankful your appetite had disappeared and your entire focus shifted to making it across to the camp site where it all started. Surely there should be some water and food stored if the hunters bothered setting up a shelter, right?

Your mouth salivated at the thought and a drool slipped past the corner of your dry lips before you hurriedly sucked it back into your mouth, desperate not to lose anymore moisture. This strengthened your resolve to push through the dark and sneak

right into the empty campsite despite the crepting fear of being caught slowing down your pace.

It didn't matter to you anymore the second you entered the ring of campfires light, basking in the warmth unfreezing your entire shivering body and reviving inside you, a new hope.

Your head felt clearer than ever and with a stronger hold onto what's left of your sanity, you objectively went to finding something to drink; scrambling through the opened wooden boxes, digging past rolls of rope that left scratchy souvenirs on your hands, unbranded bottles of alcohol and beers that seemed untouched. 

Hurry, hurry, find it. Time was tiking and you felt watched by the shadows around you, even your own, casted by the campfire ominously. Where was it?!  Water. Water. Wa. . .

A rustling of the tent fabric emgered in the precipice of your vision, and instinctively you ceased all actions immediately. Like a frightened animal, flight was your very first response. That slight movement startling you backwards and made you tripped over your own feet pathetically. Falling onto the cold sand on your side, the awkward angle numbing your arm in crushing pain.

"You won't be able to run." The plain masked man said, no, stated it like a set truth. 

It probably was when your state was a heaving tired animal, maybe it was best to surender. . . You saw how cleanly he chopped a head off, it guaranteed a painless death, and so you turned slowly in his direction. And shakily looking up, saw him.

Machete. The only hunter without an animalistic themed mask, a blank slate covering his entire face. 

His nickname was fitting, considering that his weapon is a machete, the very one he used to demonstrate his bloodlust at the beginning of the hunt. You'll never be able to forget that silver glint shinning in pure sunlight before severing a poor girl's head clean in the middle of the other hunters' 'fun,' disrupting them from further indulgence.

And when you made eye contact, the bright moon shone behind him, and that predatory look in his almond eyes drove you crazy right there and then. A burning hatred in them, starving and . Warming your cheeks as you closed your thighs subconsciously, the fluttering in your chest grew too much beyond a deafending amount. The feeling way too familiar for you not to recognize the signs.

Damn it. You just had to get a crush in the worst timing, in the worst situation in the history of your life. 

He gave you nothing more than blank stares, then a finale look over before dragging his weapon over to you. The game of cat and mouse was over. You were dead meat, literally if you don't do something. 

"P—please! I'll even su—suck your dick," you yelled out clinging to his pants, half in frustration and pleading. "I—I want to live." You became a blabbering mess, puffy swollen eyes and helpless tears and hiccups. 

For the sake of self preservation, in that close second you experienced to death's door your brain folding into itself panicking to come up with a solution. Sell yourself. Whatever it takes to stay alive. Your body was useful.

Something in that weak plea of yours must've worked since the masked man stopped dead in his tracks, body language almost shocked at your desperation on display. You took it as a good sign and with the strength of adrenaline in you, you fiercely tugged and pulled down the side of his pants till his mid-thighs were exposed while he was still frozen, revealing the flaccid of what you wanted in the moonlight. 

The shock must've wore off of him when you saw his large rough hand try to grab your head. "Sto—"

But you were quicker, faster than he expected as you blindly latched onto his penis like a starving leech, stuffing your mouth full of him. Mouth stuck to him, breathing finely though your nose while vacuum-sealling his fate. 

In hindsight you really should've offered your own body instead of forcing yourself onto him— maybe that would've changed his mind.

The last thing you heard before seeing the g the sky upside down was a raggedy exhale of pleasure. ". . . For your sake, it's better this way." 

-The End: You died(Joke Ending): You sucked-

[gvtted-ratz]

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- We ask that anyone who is FEM aligning/identifying to not read our MLM fics. You can still send requests, however, we do not do FEM readers.

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JACKAL

Jackal/Dean x Hacker!GN!Reader

Last Edited: 21/06/2024

TW: mocking, bleeding, drugging, kidnapping, corrupt cop, foul language, imprisonment, threats of bodily harm, illegal information gathering, open ending

Requested: No.

Word Count: 3,415

AO3 LINK -> HERE

Notes: This took two weeks. It’s the pig’s time to shine. Not. Fuck this nasty bastard with his midlife crisis mohawk. Now, take it away, Penny. (/SpongeBob ref for Rppik.)

@rppik (editor/co-writer): this one goes out to my hyperfocusing baddies out there,

“I assume this is everything?” You can hear Blue and Red getting shifty at your words. They, as well as you, have been waiting for the introduction to end to start your biddings.

“That it is, yes! Would my esteemed customers like to let this lowly Auctioneer know what goods you wish to purchase?” 

Yes, that is the question, isn’t it? Who will you be bidding on to take with you?

》YOU HAVE SELECTED JACKAL 《

“ Blue window? Which do you wish to take with you? I’ll make sure to have it all written down!” The Auctioneer asks, motioning towards a metal door. Behind it, you’re sure there’s someone there to take notes of what items are purchased, they will be shipped to, as well as who wasn’t bought.

“Oh! I’ll do 250 for Mason and Machete each!” Blue’s window lights up. She sounds excited to go first with her purchases. Then again, she always complained when she didn’t get to go before everyone else; better she goes now than later.

“Very well. How about the red window? Whom will you be taking?” She asks, facial expression unable to be seen behind her bandage-like mask, though the way she talks with such joy only highlights how well she is at her job.

“120 on Jackal, 340 each for the Goffard boys,” Red says, window lighting up.

“What the fuck! Fuck you!” Derek says, Matt looking just as livid as his brother. The sweat that had been gathering on Dean’s forehead drips as his lips peel back in a sneer. Those that haven’t been chosen appear to be less tense, relieved to not be bought. On the other hand, both of the larger men that Blue has picked look ready to kill; their eyes looking this way and that, bodies tense like large predators ready to pounce. She’s known for enjoying men much larger than herself so she can “put them in their place” as she so puts it; Red always tends to mock her for her types, excluding the fact that they enjoy the bratty ones.

“Green window? Would you kindly tell this lowly Auctioneer your choice?”

“220 on the corrupt cop,” you announce. Dean looks towards your window, swallowing heavily. It looks like he knows he’s screwed if he goes with you. Yet, there isn’t a thing he can do about it.

“What? C’mon, Green. What’s the Old Man got that you’d want? I’m sure he’s twice your age. 230,” Red tries to barter.

“You’re taking two of the wealthiest men already. Corrupted or not, pigs tend to have information I can use. 320,” you refuse to back down. There’s a reason you tend to only take one, as you can spend the set limit if need be.

“Fine. I’ll take the beastkin for 120 then. Keep the fucking pig, Green.” Ren gives the red window a blank look, likely keeping his mouth shut in hopes of possibly being able to find a way out of the mess he’s gotten himself into. On the other hand, Blue cackles at Red’s defeat, always enjoying the show any sort of bickering brings. Your warped hum in agreement has The Auctioneer clasping her hands together, mic being jostled slightly.

“Then this concludes the bidding! I’ll have the purchases shipped–”

“Shipped?!” Dean cuts her off, but she keeps talking, ignoring the outburst.

“–to you as soon as possible! And those who were not bought will be released, as my lovely regulars have asked!” Some sort of gas starts to fill the room the prizes are in, causing many to start tugging at their bounds, yelling at each other or the windows. The only ones unaffected are you, your fellow buyers, as well as The Auctioneer, as the products start to sway, collapsing in heaps on the metal floor below. Just as quickly as the gas had started, it clears at once.

A crew comes in, dressed similarly to The Auctioneer, to start carrying, dragging, or wheeling away both purchased and unsold. Those who were not acquired are carted off to be dumped somewhere in their respective towns, unlike the procured. They will be drugged up so it’s easier to move to their designated places via buyers’ chosen locations. You watch with muted glee as your choice is put in a wheelchair, having the IV drip attached to his arm, now ready to be shipped to your given drop-off destination. He’ll be dropped off at your little hide-out, awaiting your return, whether he knows it or not.

“With all this now settled, you will wire the payments, yes?” The Auctioneer asks, the customer-service tone of voice still present. You bring out a burner phone, clicking through it to gain access to an account you set up a month prior to this show. If anyone were to get through your firewalls and protections, they’d only track it to some poor sap’s laptop off the coast of the US. It wouldn’t be your fault if said sap happens to have a few megabytes of illegal images saved onto that computer’s hard drive, either, busting the entire operation they have going on.

“I’ve sent the amount agreed upon. It should arrive shortly,” your words hold true, as some device beyond the metal door The Auctioneer is standing beside lets out a ding . Hearing it, she glances over the door before nodding.

“Thank you, Green. May your purchase bear lovely fruit for your taking!” You leave the boxed room, not bothering to listen to the other buyers in case they have any issues; such instances usually end up in heated arguments or death of said buyer, and you're not particularly interested either way. The door closes, another person dressed business-casual stepping in front of you to lead you out of the auction house. The only sounds available are your footsteps echoing, paired with the guide’s loud breathing, muffled poorly by the gauzy wrappings around their head. 

Arriving at a dark-wooden door, the guide opens it, stepping aside to allow you to walk through. You don’t slow your pace, heading down some brick steps to follow a worn gravel path towards your vehicle. Your keys are handed to you by another member of staff, dressed just like the others before them, allowing you to enter and start up the rental with ease. You don’t look back as you drive off, heading towards your work location. By the time you arrive, you’re sure he’ll be there, still hooked to the drip.

-------------------------------------

Pulling into the gloomy drop-off location, you spot an ambulance parked at the warehouse. You position your own vehicle near it, turning off the ignition before stepping out. Another one of the auction house’s people steps out to open the van’s back doors. They step away, allowing you to confirm that this is your item. You give a jerk of your head, confirming that the man strapped down on the gurney is your purchase. With your affirmation, they start to undo his bindings, removing the IV in the process. With the obstruction gone, a member of the crew picks him up like a sack of grains. You lead them into the dilapidated warehouse, knowing they’ll follow without hesitation,  having orders to please, alongside heed, high-ranking buyers.

The lot of you walk past chunks of concrete, piles of metal, a metal beam, clumps of dirt, and countless weeds that have made their way into the place. Entering a back room, you gesture towards a chair seated close to the middle of the area, nearly hidden away in the dark place; had the door not been open, the chair would have been completely obscured by shadows. It’s the only area that’s remotely salvageable out of the entire place, with the roof still held up, all walls in place, and a functioning door to lock when you want. As the lackey none-too-gently jostles Dean into the chair, you stride over to a desk housing a multitude of monitors. Clicking on your mouse, the monitors light up, casting a glow into the mostly dark room as your C.P.U’s fans start up from underneath the desk. The motorcycle helmet has a tinted lens, keeping the bright lights from harming your eyes; of course, protecting your vision was an added bonus of keeping your face and voice hidden from others, it being the main purpose of the costly helmet.

Turning your back to your setup, you look over at your newly acquired purchase slumped in the uncomfortable office chair; the wheels had been removed so anyone in it wouldn’t roll themselves around looking for escape options. You give the worker standing beside your unconscious prize a dismissive wave, their job now complete. They leave without a word nor hesitation to escape your place of employment, shutting the door behind them. You can admit, they had manners many before them hadn’t; The Auctioneer must have taken your words to heart and retrained or weeded out the unfit employees who had been rude. In the past, you had encountered some who believed they had the right to tell you how to treat your belongings like they knew what they needed more than you, the owner, did.

You stare down at the once egotistical man, waiting until you hear the van’s engine start; the gravel crunching under its wheels as it drives off, probably to head back to the auction house. You then turn your back towards the sleeping figure, deciding to rummage around in one of the drawers in your desk. Additionally, you move a few boxes of snacks to find a bundle of zip ties kept together with a rubber-band. With these in hand, you go back to Dean. The drugs in his system keep him under, completely malleable if you wanted to do anything you desired. Thankfully, you’re not like him when it comes to his tastes, if The Auctioneer's words were anything to go by; you're sure he would readily take advantage if he were in your shoes, happy to get his rocks off anyway he deemed fit.

You slip the plastic bonds over his wrists and onto the office chair arms, using more than 3 on each one; his ankles are bound together before being fastened to the gas lift under the seat. By now, you’re almost completely out of the restraints, making a mental note to buy more. Having Jackal completely secured, you’re able to get back to your job. Throwing the last few ties into the drawer, you kick it shut and plop down into the only other office chair in the building. The monitors’ lights greet you, your previous tabs still covering the screens.

Your keycaps clacking, alongside your mouse clicking, are the only sounds in the room. Time passes by relatively quickly while you work, hyper-focused on your job as code, images, intel, and correspondence between other informants sinks its claws into your attention.

That is, until you hear a low groan emerging from your captive. Keeping your gaze trained to the current sequence of coding you’re looking over, you decide to finish the task at hand before paying him any mind, making sure to glance at another monitor that houses photos of people; their private information is summarized in bullet points next to their respective pictures, knowing it won’t take much longer for this particular assignment to be finished.

The office chair housing your new, shiny, and reluctant informant creaks as he tries to yank his hands out of the plastic ties. You don’t let that distract you, dragging an image from a monitor you weren’t typing on to the one you’re currently using; it sticks itself to the document you’ve placed it over, the information beside it matching the file you’ve constructed for this individual.

“Hey,” his gruff voice croaks out. He’s been asleep for hours, making it sound more gravelly than usual. Perhaps he’s finally noticed his current situation. It’s too bad you’re not interested at the moment. 

“Hey!” You ignore his call, saving your progress on your current project. You can feel him seething at your lack of attention from how heavy his stare is, the creaking of the office chair echoing as he tugs and throws himself around. It isn’t long before you hear a growl that turns into a hiss as the chair tips from all of his struggling. The sound of his body smacking into the concrete below brings a small amount of satisfaction; you can hear a wheeze escape his lungs. With this, you finally decide to bless him with the oh-so-sought-after diligence he wanted from you.

“Having trouble, Old Man ?” The question sounds warbled from your helmet, but the mocking tone is so pronounced that not even your face covering can keep it monotone. The chair you sit in creaks as you swing it to face him. His crumpled form on the ground greets you, as does his curled lips in what would be a snarl, if he didn’t look so pathetic, that is. “For such a cocky pig , you sure do look like a wet mutt. ”

“Fuck you! When I get out of this, I’ll make sure you wish you were dead!” You click your tongue in annoyance, turning your chair away from him to continue your task. He can stay down there if he won’t be polite; let a worm like him wiggle in the dirt.

Your clacking sounds up again as you get back to work, tuning out more of his threats, growls, and hissing. To you, they sound like a cranky old pig squealing about all the wrongs it's suffered before getting slaughtered. Time passes by faster than you think, forcing all your attention to creating files upon files of information on people many of your clients have requested; good, bad, neutral, it matters not. This is your job, after all.

When you feel your back tighten from sitting in the same position for too long, you lean back, twitching at the quick shot of pain you feel. You turn your chair, looking over at the still collapsed man. He’s frowning, staring at you from the ground; Dean had stopped making sounds after realizing that you weren’t listening nor paying attention. With your now diligent eyes back on him, however, he curls his lips back like a mutt does when snarling.

“You need somethin’, Old Man?” The mocking tone you use seems to make his snarl deepen. “Well, I need something from you.”

“Fuck you! I’ll crush your fingers to fuckin’ dust with my boot heel if you so much as touch me with ‘em!” You raise your brow, knowing he can’t see it through the helmet.

“As if I’d be a captive fondler like you, Old Man. I need your brain for this,” your honesty only serves to make him hate you more; the way his eyes seem to glaze over with utter disgust and rage tells you so.

“And why would I help you?”

“Because you’re in no position to refuse. Unless… You want me to start taking your fingernails off one by one. I don’t have any issues either way,” your distorted voice says, not even bothered by the threat you’ve just promised him. You can see the gears turning in his head as he purses his lips in reluctant thought. To give in is to admit defeat, or that’s what you assume he believes; he has to give in one way or another due to the fact that one route promises a very bloody and painful outcome.

“Fine,” he begrudgingly agrees to you picking his brain on something.

“Good. Tell me how you get your victims through your swine work.”

“My what work?” Jackal looks completely lost on your command; it makes you sigh in annoyance. You even turn your chair away from him again to start typing.

“Your swine work, Hog . Pig . You’re a cop, Dumbass. Tell me how you nab your victims through it, Old Man,” you talk slowly, adopting the tone one would with a child.

“Stop fuckin’ callin’ me Old Man !” He snaps; you’re unsure if it was your tone that pushed him over or the name. That doesn’t mean you’ll stop, though.

“I’ll call you whatever I please, Old Man ,” you pause, looking back towards him over your shoulder. “ Now answer the question. ” The voice changer seems to glitch, causing it to warp and warble; it sounds much deeper than how it did in the previous line of conversation.

“ Fine . I punch out when it’s time to, change my clothes, and fuckin’ find someone I think looks like they’d put up a fight. That enough for you?”

“ No. Keep up your little cute act and you won’t have fingernails soon. ”

“Fuckin’ bossy. Fine . I go for the feisty ones, unless I’m in the mood for someone I can overpower easily. I follow ‘em around for a bit, see if they got what I want, and then try to drive ‘em into a corner where I can do whatever I please. Sometimes I just need to get off, and others I really just wanted to gut ‘em. I like doing both, though. Seein’ ‘em die with that fear in their eyes… It’s a huge fuckin’ turn on,” during his entire schpiel, your typing hasn’t stopped. In fact, it appears to have gone faster as he spouts away.

“Are there any specifics for who you target? Or did you just happen to find them…?” You trail off, trying to pick apart the brain hiding beneath his midlife crisis mohawk.

“I usually just saw ‘em by chance and went from there. I wanted innocents. Couldn’t give a shit about guilty folks.” You hum in acknowledgement, your typing slowing down only to be replaced by mouse clicks as he continues, “Why? Or are you just gonna say it’s not my business?” His snarkiness is laced into his question, nearly making you want to say exactly that– it’s none of his business.

“It doesn’t concern you. You’re just another means to an end, Dean .” The inhale from him seems to echo in your eardrums, knowing you’ve simply upset him once again. Then again, how can you not? He’s just another squealing pig, albeit an even more crude one than you're used to running into; he’s just another pawn you’ve bought for your entertainment.

The clacks from the keys signal the end of your chat. You’re now focusing on your assignment again, not caring about the man laying prone on the ground. Engrossed with the task on hand, you don’t hear your captive rubbing against his bindings, forcing the skin to break and bleed; it doesn't register in your mind when he starts to slip his wrists out from the ties so he can try his luck at his ankles. As far as you're concerned, the only thing worth your consideration is the annoying endeavours you’ve been hired to complete.

What does get you to stop your production is the leather-covered arm wrapping around your throat from behind. There may be no blade, but the arm is tight, unrelenting in this choke hold you’ve been placed in. His other arm is securely gripping his own form, making sure that you won’t be able to break free of this situation.

“Spent too long on your work, Green ,” Dean sneers from behind you. If you didn’t have your helmet on, you would have felt his breath, reeking of cigarettes from the few he smoked before his kidnapping.

“I’ll admit. I underestimated the piggy,” you say, feeling the arm constrict like a snake squeezing its prey. You choke out a wheezy laugh, hands laying still on your keyboard; you make no move to pry the arm off, knowing he’ll only go through with choking you out if you escalate the struggle further.

“Hook, line, sinker . You didn’ even notice when I started to use the ties to cut into my wrists. Everyone knows blood is just another kind of lube,” he retorts. “And now, I’m goin’ to make sure you feel just as humiliated as you made me feel. Let’s hope you don’ bleed out too quick. ” Those words are all you hear before the arm squeezes more, cutting off all your airflow. Your hands fly off your keyboard to claw, tear, and yank at the jacket’s sleeve, unable to grab any skin. You’re at a disadvantage, knowing only when it’s too late to save yourself.

Maybe you should have chosen a different person to bid on.

》 START OVER? 《

[gvtted-ratz]

>request/idea rules<

requests: open

>marvel<

anthony "tony" stark/iron man, peter benjamin parker/spider-man, wade wilson/deadpool, helmut zemo, james "bucky" barnes/winter soldier, matthew "matt" murdock/daredevil, franklin "foggy" nelson, frank castle/the punisher, william "billy" russo/jigsaw, miguel o'hara, spider-punk/hobart "hobie" brown (smatsv)

>horror/thriller<

slashers/antagonists

billy lenz (black christmas 1974), brahms heelshire, martin mathias (martin 1977), harry warden/the miner (og and remake), asa emory (the collector), jason voorhees (og and 2009 remake), michael myers (og and rz remake), lester sinclair (house of wax), vincent sinclair (house of wax), mark hoffman (saw 4/5), lawrance gordan (saw 2004), hannibal lecter (nbc hannibal), will graham (nbc hannibal)

final/”good” guys

arkin o'brien (the collector/the collection), nicholas "nick" henry jones (house of wax), peter strahm (saw 4/5), adam faulkner stanheight (saw 2004), david radford (saw 0.5)

>games<

error 143

micah yujin

john doe +

john doe

duskwood 

richy rogers, phil hawkins, jake "hakermen", thomas, daniel "dan" anderson

killer frequency

forrest nash, henry barrow

the price of flesh

machaete, thomas (tom), jackal (jack/dean), derek goffard, matt goffard, mason heiral, dragon (jace/jason), komodo (mike/michael), the announcer (fox/ren hana)

that's not my neighbour 

physicist/dr. w. afton, milkman/francis mosses, hoon (milkman doppelganger), scarlet milk (milkman doppleganger), pilot/steven rudboys, d.d.d agent (hazmat guy), teutates taranis, abducius morail, yog sothoth

studio investigrave games

rody lamoree, vincent charbonneau, protagonist, co-worker, normal guy, fake protag, fake co-worker

call of duty (+modern warfare 2)

könig, simon "ghost" riley, kyle "gaz" garrick, john "soap" mactavish, alejandro vargas, rodolfo "rudy" parra, gary "roach" sanderson

>tv/movies/web-series<

the batman (2022)

the riddler/edward nashton

 there will be blood (2007)

eli sunday

marble hornets (2009-2014)

masky/timothy "tim" wright, skully/jay merrick, alexander "alex" kralie, hoody/brian thomas

>will not do<

• incest

• suicide

• ddlg/ddlb

• scat/urine

• pregnancy

• heavy angst

• age regression

• teacher/student

• sa/rape/non-con

• full smut/sex scenes

• illnesses/issues we're unfamiliar with (ask)

• underage/child anything (papa, uncle, child, etc. reader &/or character) - this includes childhood friend AUs

• fem reader (including pronouns/detailed anatomy due to high discomfort) - anything else is fine

> can/will do<

• fics (1k+)

• past abuse

• headcanons

• past self-harm

• drabbles (100-1k)

• alpha/beta/omega

• polyamory relationships

• blood, gore, violence, etc.

• anything soft, comfort, fluff

• aus (soulmate, cafe, bookstore, etc.)

• some ships/otps/rarepairs (feel free to ask)

• death of character/reader (character/reader kills the other)

• nearly any pronouns (including neos, just provide pronouns)

• male/masc, gender-neutral, nonbinary, trans male reader, inhuman reader (this includes monster, alien, divine etc.)

• "steamy" scenes/dub-con <- will be posted on ao3 ONLY (link will be provided for requests)

[gvtted-ratz]

BEFORE YOU READ:

- Read all tags/ratings if there are any. They are important and give you all you need to decide if you want to actually read. If you do not like the tags/rating, please do not read.

- We ask that anyone who is FEM aligning/identifying to not read our MLM fics. You can still send requests, however, we do not do FEM readers.

- You can find all our works on AO3. Only registered users can view/comment.

- Minors/ageless/blank blogs are not welcome, and you will be blocked. Respect our wishes or you will be blocked. We go through all our likes, followers, and reblogs.

Want to request? Find the rules: here!

Want to see all the fics? Find them: here!

INTRODUCTION

(Pick and Choice Options) x GN!Hacker!Reader

Last Edited: 03/06/2024

TW: kidnapping, rape threat, death threat, dehumanization, illegal auctioning, human trafficking, foul language, threats of murder

Requested: No.

Word Count: 3,081

AO3 LINK -> HERE

Notes: Reader is GN with they/them pronouns. They are NOT a good person since they’re a very good hacker/informant/stalker, visiting the auction to buy another human being. This is an AU but will still have some spoilers for the game. Instead of you being bought, it is one of the many characters present in the game. For a few of the characters, their race is not known, so we did our best to describe the colour of their skin, hair, etc in their respected chapters. There is no canon information for us to go on, so we apologize for the lack of information on these characters. In total, there will be 9 chapters. 8 of which will be characters. Thank you for your patience, and we hope you enjoy this series we have planned out.

@rppik (editor/co-writer): Alternative title: “I can't wait to live out my ‘Reverse!Bought by 1Direction AU’ fantasies with this one”.

You sit behind the window, watching as people are brought in to be lined up for the auction. Your legs are resting up on the ledge, crossed, as you recline in a cheap office chair. One of your hands props up your obscured face as you stare out into the gradually filling room. 

The amount of money it takes to attend one of these auctions can vary from a few hundred thousand to millions, depending on the people running the show and the sort of “product” being put on display. You had to dig around, throwing a few bribes here and there, to so much as find this specific show. This action house specializes in selling only the best humans they can find. Usually it’s the very healthy and fit types, though there are times when one can find those that can be used for medical means: buy them for their parts, just to sell what you’ve reaped.

From first-hand experience, humans tend to be quite expensive, rarely coming to a smaller bid than the physical items put to illegal auction. Not that you're unfamiliar with black market auctions yourself; most of your earnings come from gathering information to sell to the highest buyer. The work required to pull such a thing can go from hacking to bribery, blackmail to even stalking. You’ve passed along valuable info involving anything ranging from cheating wives to covered up murders; if it has a trail, you’ll find it. Most of the time, it’s not even hard to get. Many civilians tend to use the same password for everything, or base it on something as simple as their birthday. Others just forget to turn off their GPS or take their phone with them, leaving behind that trail you oh-so love to follow.

Forcing your attention to the room, you see a few of the choices entering the room, tugging and snarling like cornered animals sent to the slaughter. The others seem to either be reluctant to struggle or just taking everything in stride. You spot only one that seems to be shaken to his core.

With them all lined up, staring at the three windows before them, the auctioneer stands to the left. She stands tall and proud, dressed business-casual save for her entire head being covered by a mask with a bandage-covered, cast-like design. She raises her microphone to where her lips would be so her cheery tone rings out.

“Welcome, welcome, welcome! Important things must be said three times! Today, I’ve brought you a wide selection to choose from!” You can hear the customer-service smile shining through.

“Oooo! Look at them! We have a few cuties in here!” A blue glow emits from the middle window, a high-pitched squeal rings out.

“Can you not start your pig squealing the moment the goods are brought out?” The red window to the left lights up, an annoyed voice ringing out in response. From what you can tell, the owners of the voices aren't too old– the one from the blue window being a middle-aged woman, perhaps, with the red window's voice sounding younger and too androgynous to label further.

“Let’s get the bidding started. We don’t have all day,” your distorted voice rings out. You wear a dark motorcycle helmet, a voice changer built into it, for meetings like this. You won’t let anyone here figure out who you are or give away something so easy to remember as your voice. If anyone were to recognize its modulated tone somewhere, then that's simple enough to change.

“Oooooo! Green, you dirty dog ! You just want to snatch the best from us, don't you? You always get the good ones.” The blue light shines as the nameless woman complains.

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have such a low budget, Piggy,” the red window retorts, still sounding annoyed.

“Oh hush! I have plenty this time!” She sounds proud, although you know for a fact that her budget is very little for these things.

“Quiet,” with just your words, the two quiet down. You’ve had many run-ins with these two, just like they have with you. They know you make more than them since you tend to come here nearly every seven months. Money wields power, and with you at the top compared to the others, they know that you could purchase them if you saw fit.

“Thank you, thank you! I know my regulars are very excited to find their perfect purchase! Now, I do hope you don’t mind the amount of goods I’ve brought! I will make sure to give you a very quick summary on each one of these prizes!” You can hear every exclamation mark in her sentences, nailing that customer-service type of energy.

“Fuck you! When I get out of here, I'll slash your belly open and fuck that yapping whore mouth of yours!” A short, golden brown complexioned man with bleach-blonde hair shouts. He struggles against his bonds, making the chains clink together. A few of the others among him watch with mild annoyance, while others watch like they know they’re witnessing a bratty tantrum.

“Sounds like the punk bitch is wailing,” the androgynous voice says. You can hear a bit of amusement bleeding through their words.

“What a nasty mouth on this young man!” The high-pitched woman says, sounding disgusted. A mangled, non-committal hum leaves you, eliciting laughter from the other two people behind the windows. The red window's inhabitant has more of a chuckle than a laugh, while the blue one has a hyena cackle.

“Yes, yes! This is Derek Goffard, age twenty-seven! The current heir to Mr. Goffard’s very successful, and very large, investing firm with ties to luxury goods!”

“Shut up, Bitch,” Derek snaps once more. A stockier man, having the same skin tone and eye shape as him, hisses some sort of retort back that makes the other’s face light up a darker shade.

“Meanwhile, the man beside him is Matt Goffard! He is the younger half-brother of Derek. If the other were to die, he’d be the next heir to Mr. Goffard’s wealth! These two have such a fierce rivalry, having come from two different mothers! It’s no wonder they turned out just like their father, with wandering eyes, hands, and an interest in murdering innocents in the most horrific ways possible!”

That declaration makes many of the prizes look at the auctioneer in surprise. How can she know? How does she know? Everything was covered up so well. At least, that’s what you assume they’re thinking. Only one of the eight isn’t sharing that surprised look, seeming instead horrified, paired with pure terror at the situation.

“Oh? You really did change up the game, did you?” Red sounds impressed, knowing that this must have taken a while to compose.

“Wow… To think we get to see such awful people for sale this time. We’re so lucky!” On the other hand, Blue responds as though all this is just pure coincidence.

“Monsters like us are for sale this time,” you come across as monotone with your voice modulator. The creaking of your chair rings out in the silence your words bring, letting everyone know that your interest is piqued as you stand. “Count me impressed, Auctioneer.”

The resulting hyena cackles and light chuckling makes the goods’ faces start to turn; realization is setting in. You’re the top dog here; by stating your interest in the meats in front of you, they’ve practically signed a death sentence by catching your attention.

“Would you look at that? The fresh cuts have got our highest buyer to stand. They even admitted to being interested in the selections available!” The auctioneer's zeal sounds more genuine this time, turning her head towards the many options. “I never thought I’d see the day! Oh, let’s see which one of you is lucky enough to go with our lovely green window by the end of introductions!”

“Fuck that. This is some sort of punishment, right? Didn’t enjoy the fuckin’ holiday enough, Derek?” A man with greying hair shaved into a midlife crisis mohawk and stubble snaps at the smaller of the two golden complexioned men.

“Me? This isn’t me, clearly! Blame fucking Matt or my dad! This wasn’t me, Shitass!”

“Why would you blame me?! Don’t drag me into your bullshit!” Matt exclaims, looking just as pissed as his half-brother.

“Now, now! Let’s not get too heated! You wouldn’t want to ruin the bidding, would you?” The auctioneer chirps cheerily.

“Nah, let them bicker. They usually don’t do this," Red says.

“You should put them together like this more often, Auctioneer. This is the most fun I’ve had watching a bidding in so long!” Blue seems to agree with red. You give no reply, letting them do what they wish. However, you can’t help but silently agree with the two.

“Well, then! This is Dean, age forty-six! He’s also known as Jackal when he goes out for his yearly vacation trip, along with a number of our other prizes here today, who each take a part in sadistic thrills far out and away from civilization. Dean here is a corrupt cop who takes bribes when on the job, and a murderous stalker who gets off to those who fight back!”

“How do you even know all this? How?” A chubby, light brown-skinned man asks this; you can see his trembling from here, but you do find it somewhat brave of him to ask such a loaded question with how terrified he is. Before either of the other buyers can answer, you let yourself be known again.

“You were hand-picked, files on your very being reviewed extensively , before it was decided you would be the next item to be won.” The man seems to shrink in on himself at the revelation coming from a buyer who should not have any idea of such things unless they played a hand in it– or perhaps had done such a thing in the past, now knowing how the process worked.

“You reviewed us, is that it, Green?” The beastkin has a customer-service tone as fake as the auctioneer’s. His tail swishes, seeming to think he has you down as the very reason they’re all there. It doesn’t surprise you that the others among him stare at your window, making you shake your head.

“Incorrect,” your harshly spoken word makes a few twitch while others tense. “I have, however, dealt with this before. If I had chosen any of you to be sold, I would not be here to buy, now would I?” It’s a rhetorical question, so when the timid man opens his mouth, you cut him off. “Auctioneer, continue. We waste time with entertaining items up for purchase.”

The dehumanizing words makes the obviously meek man droop with hopelessness and fear. You can see the two largest of the group tighten their fists at the obvious display of power.

“Anything for my regulars! Now, the two here,” she motions towards a long-haired, skinny man with many piercings first, before motioning towards a heavier set man with a tattoo on his right shoulder, “are Michael, twenty-six, and Jason, age twenty-five! Michael was interested in the occult, bringing along Jason for the ride! Both of them go to these “vacations” after kidnapping two victims from Jason’s old college campus! One is used for their rituals, while the other tends to be used for first blood!”

The two occultists look towards each other grimly, both looking more like worried college drop-outs than two murderous men. The Auctioneer continues cheerfully, “From the information I’ve been given, they’ve been going to these vacations for nearly as long as Dean has!”

A hum leaves you before you can stop it. The Auctioneer, alongside the many eyes of the objects to be bought, stares in wait for your thoughts. “To think you have brought such things. I will have to admit, I’m amazed, Auctioneer. Remind me to pay you double after the show.”

A squawk of protest leaves the oldest Goffard boy, but you pay it no mind. A few of the others look a bit worried now, with the corrupt cop starting to sweat beads along his brow; the two occultists shuffle closer together, meanwhile, the two tallest of the group appear to tense further despite the lack of emotion on their faces.

“Oh my! You sure do love to make them swoon, don’t you, Green?” Blue chimes up, teasing you for the obvious favouritism for bringing something other than civilians.

“You’d do the same if you had any money to give,” Red snarks. “I’ll do the same, Auctioneer. You’ve brought us real treats. I might end up buying more than one.”

“Oh, I’ll buy more than one, too. I can’t let this go to waste!”

“One. I have no time nor patience for anything more. Release what’s left to be bought for another time,” it’s a command more than an option. The seller nods eagerly, knowing not to disagree with her regulars.

“Oh, what a marvelous idea, Green! To think we’ll see whatever’s left next time.”

“I’m in agreement. They can’t hide for long, and I’m bound to get bored after a while with what I buy.”

“Oh, I hope I don’t get bored so soon… Look at the fresh cuts here!”

“I’ll get my money’s worth out of them. Let’s hope they last long enough for the next show,” Red’s words only bring a grunt of agreement from you, while Blue’s response is another cackle.

“I will stray for a moment away from such awful beings, as I do have one civilian with us! Thomas, age twenty-six, is a true sweetheart; he’s a dedicated individual to his sound design brand despite it not taking off!” She nods towards the skittish man from earlier. You clocked him as a civilian the moment your eyes found him; his soft looks, paired with how he carries himself, only gave him away as a good man among monsters. Usually, you wouldn’t bother with the civilians, finding them not worth your time due to the ignorance they display. Despite his apparent lack of awareness of the dark underbelly of society, he doesn't strike you as particularly brainless. He may be worth something for catching your eye. “To think he goes to the college Jason and Michael tend to kidnap their victims from! Why, it would have been disastrous for him if he had been taken on that holiday trip!”

“Now, how did you get here, Sweetie? You’re here among some awful people!” Blue’s constant cackling makes a sigh escape you. Red chimes in as well, having enough.

“Will you shut the fuck up? Damn! You’re the broke bitch asking stupid shit!”

“Hey! I’m asking a good question! Besides, you agreed with me a few times today!” Their bickering continues, making more of the pets shift in place. You watch from your window, red and blue lights clashing over the unwilling prizes. They’re all starting to look weary at the fact that at least five of the gathered nine will not be returning to their homes.

Your sigh cuts through the bickering, Red ending it with a: “and your cooter is dryer than the fucking desert.”

“If you two keep this up, I may end up having an aneurysm.” You hear the masked woman cough to cover up her laugh. You know she has to stay in her character, but to hear you, one of her prestigious buyers and occasional sellers, admit to being annoyed makes it hard to keep such a straight face.

“Ha– Let’s keep going, yes?” She says, recovering from her slip.

“Yes. Time is ticking, I’m afraid. Please understand my hurry, Auctioneer,” is your reply. It may be blunt, however, it is also polite with it’s warped quality.

“Very well! This is Mason Heiral, age thirty-eight! He’s a cultist that lives deep in the Canadian woods! He had slaughtered everyone else in the cult, including his girlfriend, Sandy! It’s said he used her bones to make a knife, naming it after her. He’s just another killer among us today who enjoys hunting those he buys!”

“You mean he’s a buyer like the rest of us?” Red asks, seemingly intrigued.

“That he is! As is Derek and Matt Goffard! The others kidnap their victims, minus Thomas, of course!” Red responds with a grunt at her answer. Blue remains as quiet as you, probably thinking of her choices. You’re certain she’s already chosen, regarding the fact that there are two more choices left.

“Next, we have Machete, age twenty-three! His legal name is unknown, however, we do know he joined the desert group to avenge his dead sister, who was previously killed by the group. He planned to kill them all, having earned their trust via various illegal means!” You see the quiet rage in his eyes. His carmel-brown chest swells with his breathing, seemingly trying to keep it all contained.

Blue mumbles something, making her window light up, but no one seems to catch it besides the last man who has yet to be introduced; the fox ears twitch while his eyes light up with some sort of amusement. Through all of this, it looks like they're all trying to be in their best behaviour so as to either not be picked or go with someone who will underestimate them. You can't help but mentally give them all kudos for this idea, even though it is a bit poor; then again, it is their only means of hope.

“Lastly, we have Ren Hana, age forty-seven! He’s a beastkin who used to be an auctioneer! Running illegal auctions alongside his deadly hobby of snuff streaming, he’s rated high for his customer service and excellent quality of goods!” The beastkin, Ren, gives a wide smile at her words. You have to admit, you can see the customer-service quality to it if you ignore the sharp pinpricks of teeth in his maw.

“I assume this is everything?” You can hear Blue and Red getting shifty at your words. They, as well as you, have been waiting for the introduction to cease to start your biddings.

“That it is, yes! Would my esteemed customers like to let this auctioneer know what goods you wish to purchase?”

Yes, that is the question, isn’t it? Who will you be bidding on to take with you?

》 MAKE YOUR SELECTION 《

》JACKAL《

》THOMAS《

》MACHETE《

》REN HANA《

》MASON HEIRAL《

》MATT GOFFARD《

》DEREK GOFFARD《

》DRAGON+KOMODO《

》ERROR. SELECTIONS UNAVAILABLE AT THIS TIME《