These are the California Islands. Eleven are inhabited; some hardly so.
This is Island 48, or Orange Island. It's not the biggest...but it's hardly the least-populated. There's a port here. Many capitalist businesses run their HQ here. Tropicana does.
Over the city's night skies, the beams of many spotlights wave themselves around, like flashlights pointed at the sky. They surround an indoor arena.
Tonight, the runway's out. Loud music plays. One at a time, Orange Island's finest come out in revealing clothing, and take a sole lap around the runway. Each model will likely get to go many times. Alas, they'll never go twice wearing the same thing.
Among them, there's a certain blonde. Her name is Phoebe Conte. She's very balanced...and she's a proud and happy scion of the family that's run Conte Enterprises for quite a while.
She's...not as happy as she'd like to be these days. She's been divorced. Alas, it's not a total loss. At least her ex-husband has let her be her mistress, post-divorce...as strange as that'd sound to a more conservative society.
Despite the urbanization, Orange Island is no less conservative than the other ten islands in this magnificent archipelago. Orange Island is just...a bit more liberally conservative than most would expect. Hell, in some spots, it's conservatively libertarian... Either way, you'll find more tradition and the love for it on some of this archipelago's bigger and more rural islands. Again, Orange Island is neither...but it's hardly unloved.
Tonight, Phoebe models in black, grey, and/or purple clothing, to express her grief. Her grief isn't as potent as it could be. Hell, many can't say that Phoebe's grief is worth writing a Shakespearean tragedy about... Either way, Phoebe's got no idea how close she is to yet another heartbreak right now. For some, that makes sense. It's often said, after all, that the strongest kind of love is the one that's ignorant of the existence of a broken heart.
Many times, Phoebe orbits the runway. Like her sisters in modeling, she never wears the same chic piece of cloth twice.
Inadvertently, all of the models walk over a hole in the floor. In it, something plugs it up. Or rather, it PRETENDS to plug it up. It's a camera lens. It's of a video camera...and it's recording. Many models' upskirts, it captures...
It's a slow-motion camera that's motion-triggered. And that kind of footage is worth a LOT on some markets...
Within the comeback part of the runway, there's another hole in the floor. Again, the models walk right over it without noticing it. THIS one is clogged with a human eye. It's a boy's. Tonight, he's a peeping Tom.
Many times, he sees up Ms. Conte's skirt...when she wears a skirt. Sometimes, no surprise, she doesn't. Either way, it's hard for him to not adore how she looks.
Ah, Orange Island... If only he could stay here... If only he wasn't aware of a business back in Somalia that'd miss him if he elected to stay here...
Hours pass. Outside, the music dies. The parking lots empty. The spotlights over the city are turned off.
In the arena, all has fallen silent. You wouldn't believe that this place was alive and popping six hours ago...
At long last, Micah Maxse, the mystery boy under the floor, crawls out from under it. He crawls under the other side of the runway, and ejects the tapes from the camera. Next, he takes the camera apart. He bags all parts involved.
Outside, in an alley, a black sedan pulls up. Its plates are fake.
Throughout the alley, the CCTV cameras have been duped into filming a loop. The loops are programmed to expire as soon as soon as the person driving this black sedan makes her getaway.
With many heavy bags, Micah comes outside. His black chariot awaits. For him, the trunk pops open. He throws each bag in the trunk.
From far away, he hears dogs bark. Spooked, he speeds things up, and slams the trunk lid. He slides in, next to the driver. One door slam later, she speeds off. Five seconds later, the loops of the CCTV cameras end, and they resume filming the night's monotonous reality. Except this time, the night's reality really IS monotonous.
As she drives, Mica's partner takes off her veil. She looks like Zoe Kravitz...if Ms. Kravitz was Somali. "You took your time," she says, in a same accent. "Nice models, eh?"
Mica shrugs. "They're alright. I just..." He buckles his seat belt. "I just can't wait to get back to Mogadishu, is all."
Leta scoffs, and keeps driving.
Near the coast, there's a softwood forest. They drive down into this, and park where the blacktop dead-ends. He fetches a RHIB, and they make their way down to a wharf nearby.
At it, they inflate the RHIB. They get in, and cast off. They leave Orange Island behind, and wait for their taxi to come ferry them back to Mogadishu...
At last, it surfaces. It's a submarine. It's spotted them with its periscope. It surfaces, opens its top hatch, and casts out a line.
Leta takes precautions, to make sure that she's the first they start hauling aboard. Mica has so many thoughts of Somalia on his mind, that he doesn't notice any of the signs...until the one that comes too much too late.
They're hauling him aboard. Leta's already there. With a machete, they cut the line...letting poor Mica fall into the drink.
Mica tries to climb aboard, but can't. He listens and despairs, as they close the hatch behind them.
The sub dives, and leaves him behind. As Mica swims in the foam that the submarine's screws leave behind, he laments that Leta didn't so much as turn around or look at him before they hauled her aboard. And to think there were times in their...seemingly budding relationship...where he genuinely thought that his efforts to court her were FINALLY starting to pay off...
Mica will never know now. This far out away from Orange Island, he could drown. In fact, that's probably what his betrayers expect...
Nonetheless, Mica's got to try. One arm at a time, he swims for shore. He tries not to put too much effort into what he does. He'll need every joule of energy he's got left to get back to Orange Island.
With luck, he'll get to look up Ms. Conte's skirt again. Except this time, he'd be doing it for free. He's...just now beginning to realize that that sounds SO much better than doing the same thing for Somalia's pirates...