Morning came quickly. Far too quickly. Still, Juri came awake, reaching out to stretch her arms and pawing Ken's chest, fingers pressing down on and filtering through fine dark hairs. She looked at him and how soundly he slept. Her gaze rested on a hickey coloring his neck – then several more across his arms.

There were a few on his inner thighs. Juri gave those to him during the night and Ken didn't mind it. She wished he'd give them back. Maybe he would when she wasn't healing or gearing up to pose as a victim of human trafficking. Maybe then she could finally feel his teeth sink into her flesh.

The traffic outside was drowned out by rain and Juri liked that noise, the subtle scent of petrichor slipping through the partly opened window. They could stay here forever, under the covers of a cramped bed in the middle of Hong Kong.

She'd like that very much –as she'd go to the ends of the earth if Ken went there.

Juri closed her eyes for a moment and sank into the goodwill over the reality of someone like her was lying here and opened them to Ken's conscious, placid expression staring back at her.

He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and she opened the blanket to let him in so he could kiss her. He accepted the offer with fervor, wound his arms around her, then offered warmly; "Wanna sleep in while I get us breakfast?"

Juri hummed with satisfaction, shifting closer so she could press their bodies together and lick his lips to let him know that the thought was deeply and fully appreciated.

After a pleasant breakfast, things moved fast. A disguise was in order. Nothing elaborate, just something to aid the idea of Juri being a helpless sex slave. It would be what the day was spent on; buying costumes and props, which consisted of very little. Black dress and thick heels for Juri, hat, fake mustache, and coat for Ken. And a collar with a leash to make the ruse work.

In addition, a knife for some little DIY projects.

A while later, they were back at the hostel and Juri sat on the bed with the knife in hand. The room lacked a table, so foam and rubber landed everywhere on the sheets. She had the shoe in her lap while she worked; it was one of those platform shoes popular with kids these days. The sole was sliced open, and pockets were made to fit each part of her disassembled device. Putting the whole thing as was, would just crack and destroy it.

The rain had let up by the time, Ken returned. He pulled the hood from his head, put the grocery bag by the door to the bathroom, and headed for the bed to remove the bits of rubber and foam from the bed and floor. He did it with such patience, Juri wondered how many times he had done so with his kid, cleaning up messes just like this.

It occurred to her that they hadn't been talking much at all about Ken's family life since the divorce. She knew what his kid and ex-wife were called; she knew what type of person Eliza was. But never how their lives on a normal day played out. In a way, Juri supposed her musings were like a little window into Ken's life – the remnants of it.

"Have you always been a housewife?" she asked completely facetiously, and he looked up at her in surprise.

"My mother taught me housekeeping skills. Said that a good man takes care of himself, his living space, and the people in his life."

Huh. Well, that would explain quite a lot, wouldn't it?

Juri decided to throw him a bone. "…I suppose my mom was like that too."

Ken gathered the debris and dumped it in the one trashcan in the room before he returned to the bed, looking at the project, and then at her.

"And your dad?" he asked and she wanted to answer reactionarily. Killed by Shadaloo, killed on Bison's orders.

"Hard-ass. Spoiled me rotten with candy though," Juri answered instead and had an immediate vision shot in a stuffy office with a candy bowl on the desk. Something with harsh orders and concerned conversations inter-spliced with words of comfort and affection. A lingering memory. How she wondered what her father would say if he looked at her now. The thought was crippling as it was comforting.

Juri disassembled her phone and put the pieces in the molds made for them to test how they fit. When she determined, they sat correctly, she put the shoe on the floor and tested its padding. While she was doing that, Ken continued to observe her with a mix of awe and surprise.

"That is pretty nifty. Wish I figured to do that in school."

Juri walked around, pleased to find no sense of discomfort or crunch under the soles of her feet. "What, were you the troublemaker texting girls during class?"

Yes. He nodded. Ironically, Juri wasn't.

"Well not girls. Just playing games and chatting with friends to find targets to mess around with," Ken said with a quiet sigh, and she stopped to look at him in surprise, to which he answered with a shrug and; "I had a phase."

Juri smiled in contemplative amusement and lifted her leg to pull off the shoe. His misspent youth cast a strong contrast against the image of academic and athletic perfection, Juri had been. Crazy how their lives had morphed. And here she thought Chun-Li was her only polar opposite.

She sat back down on the bed again and stretched her legs, staring at a garish painting on the door and asking; "Ready for tomorrow?"

"No. The shitshow starts an hour before midnight. We'll…" Ken paused, then tried again. "We'll gather our bearings and talk ourselves into it."

"It's gonna be fine. Just pretend I'm a couch for a garage sale."

Ken paled. "I can't do that and feel good about myself afterward."

"It's just one night," she assured him like the whole process was a normal thing. Momentarily, she considered switching the roles of slave and owner, but the truth of the matter was that pretty girls sold better than pretty boys who looked like they could put up a fight.

And Ken was just one of those people you could smell the defiance radiation off.

He nodded and settled onto the bed with his legs crossed under him while the colors returned to his face. He looked at Juri experimenting with fitting the knife under the tongue of the shoe. It was a pocketknife so there was no threat of her skin getting nicked. It would endure other marks probably. Such was the way of the world.

Such was Ken's affection when he put a hand over hers. In around thirty-six hours, that same hand would hold a chain around her neck and take her to a human auction. Twelve hours earlier, it had been intertangled in her hair, over her breasts, nestled between her thighs.

Strange thoughts to think.

"What are good ways to really sell myself as a piece of shit?" he asked.

"Pieces of shit come in many types. I think the business before pleasure type fits you best. That way, you don't have to call me bitch and whore all the time. You don't have to perve on me either. Treat it like you're showing off an art exhibition. Let the canvas speak for itself."

To this, Ken smiled, ever so slightly like he had been given a lifeline. He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek as a thank you.

When the time of that horrid charade came, they arrived at their target as described by Retu and Sodom; a derelict building with all its windows boarded up, barely illuminated by distant streetlights. They stood at a comfortable distance so Juri could remove the cape around her body and hand it to Ken, who was fiddling with the mustache and hat. Juri was already wearing that thin dress so there wasn't much for her to do.

There was the collar. This Ken attached for her with a sense of melancholy. He closed his eyes and rested his hands on her shoulders, holding her there as if to ground himself, drawing circles across her skin. Moments later, he withdrew his hands but did it with a shuddering breath that made Juri's heart quiver.

"Relax," she told him, and he didn't really but feigning it was better than not trying at all.

His entire disposition screamed discomfort. His body was stiff like his movements when he reached for the chain that hung in front of Juri's body, tracing each link until he reached the handle. He didn't pull; he didn't need to as she walked on her own at a believable distance.

If she could cry on command, she might have done that to really sell the act. Instead, she carried herself as a victim resigned to a horrible fate; beaten and abused for denying it. Too afraid to fight back, too proud to cry.

Naturally, the door was locked so Ken had to knock on it until it opened, and a burly guard stared right back at him with an expression like a thunderstorm. He was tall and muscular but not to the degree of the mountains in Metro City.

"I'm here to see Belger. I got some merchandise to sell him. Password is Jessica," Ken gestured with the chain, just gently enough to not jerk Juri off her feet.

The guard stared at him, then at Juri, opening the door just slightly, which wasn't an invitation to get in. On the contrary. Another burly bodyguard emerged from the gap and directly went to pad Ken down for weapons or transmitters. He did no such thing for Juri, possibly because no one suspected a shivering woman in a thin black dress with bruises on her body to be carrying weapons.

The guards, understanding that not every random schmick off the street would be privy to Belger's extracurricular activities or the secret password, let the pair in. The guards remained where they stood so Ken and Juri had to navigate the darkened maze of hallways on their own. Backlight illuminated the marble floor with a vibrant white and it gave Juri a chance to look at Ken, catching glimpses of his deep discomfort under the shadow of his heat.

A glass wall to their left revealed a hall with a massive stage, above which a projector cast pictures of young women and men who had the misfortune of getting dragged to the stage. All nude, all utterly and hopelessly miserable. Some highly underage. Potential buyers were the audience, eyes glued to their most desired merchandise.

Ken saw them too, sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, and hastened his pace, dragging Juri along. The chain was made stiff for a second before she matched his speed, and they stopped in front of a desk where a man approaching middle-age sat.

"For the auction?" he asked as he lowered his hid and let his glasses glide down the bridge of his shoulder. He spared Juri a thought with suspicion but thoughtfulness.

Ken shook his head. "For Belger."

The receptionist or whatever he was held a long and hesitant pause. Then, he pointed further down the hall, past stairs and curtains, guards and patrons. Towards a massive door by its far end, almost obscured in the darkness.

Without any other words exchanged, the pair walked down the hall. Past prying eyes that felt like wet tongues lapping at Juri's skin. Past familiar feelings of discomfort and past the threshold of quiet resignation. The darkness dissipated and the door loomed over them. Ken knocked on it and by the urgency of his movements, he'd like to get this done as soon as possible.

Watching him trying not to give into despair was a stressful experience. The door opened by a security guard to a projector and loungeroom. In the dim glow from the backlight floors, Juri could scantly see the most overt details of a man in a motorized wheelchair; middle-aged, broad-shouldered, bald, slightly portly with a greying beard, signs of age.

There were camera feeds everywhere on the massive screen behind him. Covering the auction, in private rooms, in the women's bathrooms. Unintentionally, Juri caught a glimpse of an ill-lit basement in which a man and a trio of women were in the midst of "enjoying" the forced company of a young woman just approaching adulthood; indistinguishable, cartoonlike. Horrifying.

"Haven't seen you before," Belger, most likely, raised his dark brushy bow. He raised his hand to let his eleven or so bodyguards and their Uzis know that there was no immediate threat.

"New to the business," Ken answered with a rattle of the chain around Juri's neck.

She played the part on cue and sank to her knees but always kept her eyes on Belger. The old man was too busy narrowing his eyes in subtle affront at getting such an obvious answer. Ironic as he'd use an obvious pivot to the glaring topic at hand.

"I assume that's your merchandise," he gestured at Juri and his wheelchair drove towards her.

By the way, Belger was staring at her, Juri saved Ken the indignity of barking orders and stood up on her own. She felt him let go of the chain because the old man was now circling her like a shark smelling blood in the water and his stupid wheelchair was cumbersome to maneuver around.

"She got a good body. Fit, sturdy. Well-fed," Belger let his eyes rest on a bruise or two and drew his own conclusions with a wheedle to his voice that suggested he wanted the juicy details. "And trained. Not a virgin then, I assume."

Ken did not correct the old geezer – not for lack of knowledge as his silence was an answer in itself. He just breathed through his nose in a flat, long huff. Juri could have sworn, she felt a breeze of shame coming off him. It was a good thing he tilted his head forward just slightly as surely one would otherwise see deep crimson that'd creep over his skin. Belger wasn't looking, or interested anyway, grabbing the chain and yanking it until Juri stood bent over at an angle that left her back aching.

She could have killed him then. But that would just trap them with several guards in and outside this room. And a bullet to Ken's head. Instead, her eyes filled with hatred which was appropriate given the situation, given Belger clasping a massive hand around her jaw to move her mouth open.

"Got all the teeth. White and clean too."

Still no answer from Ken. Business before pleasure. It gave Belger more room to fill out with the weight of his own presence. Distastefully, it reminded Juri too much of Seth – and Bison.

"I understand why you'd rather sell to me rather than try your luck at the auction. How much are you willing to sell her for?"

"What she's worth," Ken hedged.

No, he and Juri had not discussed what a person actually cost at an auction. He wouldn't be able to sleep if he told her that virgin girls and women sold for absurdly high prices. Especially minors.

"…People like you are sadistic hellions," Belger smiled an awful smile without even the tiniest of understanding for the prevarication. He was too busy projecting. "I'll tell you now, she's worth a lot."

Juri wished she had the freedom to roll her eyes. Certainly with Belger rapidly exposing his own personal flaws as a man; human trafficker and crime lord notwithstanding. He was one of those people who talked too much about himself and his experience.

"Normally, I'd pay fifteen thousand for a product like her. And I prefer the ones with lighter hair and blue eyes. But that can be circumvented. Plus, products in good state don't come often so I'll double the price," Belger drove his wheelchair to a desk and Juri felt her shoulders roll back in relief – the wrong response given the circumstances.

On the other hand, Ken looked like he could collapse into a graceless heap on the floor. In the pause that Belger needed to find the money, Ken looked at Juri for comfort and she looked at him with reassurance. Doing this with someone else for once felt like a bulwark over a callus.

About as pragmatic as such a comparison would imply but rather something spiritually soothing. Her fingers tingled with the need to rake her nails up and down his arms but all she could do, in the moments before Belger found the money and she was pulled to her feet from the arm by some guard, was to smile.

It was like the after-hours job at the Eagle Shipping Company, Juri reckoned while she sat in the back of the van. Same dread, same neurosis, same possible urge to vomit. Same horror eroding Ken. He had nearly crumbled when the guards handcuffed her and dragged her out of the office.

And now, she sat and stared at the scenery outside, wondering about him.

There were streetlights that showed lush trees, and forest paths from the roadway. Winding turns with the occasional pedestrian. Briefly, Juri wished she could put the window down, stick her head out, and let the wind whip through her hair.

Instead of reminiscing about the presence of her beloved bike, she looked at her surroundings instead. In the van were several other women; four to be exact. All young, all naturally blonde, all with blue eyes. All in a strapless red dress with a low neckline that exposed as much cleavage as possible.

All crying to the point where their makeup formed raccoon eyes on their faces. They hung their head low, unable to console each other let alone themselves. Far too bereaved over their situation to notice Juri's calm. She should say something. But she found herself inadequate for the task. So she kept her mouth shut as the world went dark around them and time came to a crawl.

At some point, the van came to a stop and the women began to whimper again, huddling together when the doors went open. Burly thugs reached for one woman and yanked her out of the vehicle like she was an ill-behaved child about to get spanked by the teacher. The process continued. Juri didn't resist but got jerked around anyway and she added another face to her kill list.

A mansion stood in front of them. An iron gate stood behind them. Green wilderness, mountains, and a fence encased them. There were distant lights in the forestry from other opulent residencies but for all Juri knew, they were isolated. The women were dragged inside with no time to admire or admonish the building in which they would be subject to a horrible fate.

Juri kept herself steely while she tried to catalog what she could before being taken to the basement. It had been converted into what could only be described as a morgue for the living. Cubicles stacked on one another with a single toilet by the end of the room and a meager shower.

Each woman had her cuffs removed but was shoved into and locked inside their cubicles. Barely wider than a car and not much taller than one either. Not tall enough to stand up in. Juri had to crawl to get inside, thankful to be given the "top bunk."

Here was cramped like a coffin with just barely enough space for Juri to sit upright on the thin mattress. She felt the top of the ceiling brush against her hair and sat locked in the darkness as she palmed the walls for a light switch. Her fingers pressed against something flimsy but hard and a sharp glare temporarily blinded her from a lamp in the corner.

Despite the isolation, Juri heard all the noise around her; the crying of women, the indistinct chatter of the thugs, and the distant hum of the elevator that took them down here. Lesser people would go insane from living here. She swallowed and took off her shoe, lifting the sole to retrieve the phone parts.

Piece by piece, she assembled the device until she could turn it on. Its blue light was a comfort. That it was around two in the morning, was a fact. She sent Ken a message and turned on the tracker app that had been installed earlier, then sat on the padded mattress to plan her next move and wait.

She could – should wait until the thugs fell asleep before busting out of the cubicle and taking them by surprise before they raised alarm. Free the women and get them out of the way.

While Juri sat and plotted, the screen of her phone turned alit with a response. Then she knocked on the lid of the coffin with the knife in hand.