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Part 7 of indebted, continuing from a lunchtime (at the familiar 9-human table) spent discussing the north

“Maybe i should visit”, said Muscle Mike. “I dream of better days.”

“The days are certainly better there”, said the second lesbian. “We can get you a northern newspaper subscription and see for yourself what they concern themselves with.”

“Spoiler: they're mostly about tax and managing public funds, and a little bit of celebrity gossip", she continued. “Tyrone ‘safety guy extraordinaire’, saves another werewolf's life with his ‘magic hands’!”

“All he did was tie a bunch of little threads together to hold together the suicide net”, said the first lesbian, rendering insensitive the intonation of the second's voice. “Turns out it is quite stressful working in the bank.”

“What, because the money moves south?”, i asked.

“Exactly”, said Skinny Joe. “It's painful to look at the taxes and seeing just how much local banks are extorted from.”

“It's just us on a massive scale”, said Ortil. “The north can be seen as a category V, bound to their captor, forced to give away most of their meager payment.”

“ ‘meager’ ”, fingerquoted Anista. “They're the second most productive community, after south city.”

“Ah, so they're just like us”, witted Skinny Joe. “Guys who stand to make a lot, all forced to give it away, seen as the same stuff as their captors by the others.”

“Yet they have nothing to do with their captors, and as we all likely know, life would be better without them”, he continued. “It's quite the tension.”

“And i'm sure the brothel'll be ripped apart”, said the second Lesbian. “What happens after coups? A re-take-over, right?”

“Exactly”, said the first lesbian. “And we're a symbol that each side can use for propaganda, the most successful illegal establishment in the country.”

“The north can say that they can make life better for all of us by taking over and making sure the money flows where they think it should", she said. “And the south say that they, with their laws and regulations, can simply guide the brothel towards mutual prosperity”

“We're just a metaphor”, said Muscle Mike. “A way to paint the picture people want.”

“And each side will turn us into what they want”, said the first lesbian.

“We're dough, basically.", she stated. “Now then, what do you want? To be killed or to be held in esteem?”

"It's very simple, either way”, said the first lesbian. “It's all about money. We should invest our wages into the north's military and keep ourselves under their control.”

“And how would we pay off our loan?”, asked Chad. “Your ideas are shit, no offense”

“I don't think the loan sharks will have much chance in this climate”, said the second lesbian. “They'll simply disappear as the regulations wash into the brothel.”

“I thought the north was mainly about decriminalisation…?”, i asked.

“At first”, she said. “And then they'll go introduce rules to turn our massive profits into public good.”

“Much better than the south's system”, she continued. “The north is about turning businesses into prosperity-pushers and keeping them positive places, places free of that selfishness which only every grows. The south is about keeping everyone content”

“TL;DR: The north wants to push society to be the best it can be, the south merely wants werewolf society to be happy", summarised the first lesbian. “Even if they remain unoriginal.”

A fundamental divide.

“And the north has… what, exactly to prove for itself?”, i asked.

“They have modern technology”, said Skinny Joe. “And they'd like to do more, but the south exists.”

“I don't think i trust them”, said Chad. “Governments generally make big promises and little action.”

“You're free to disagree”, said Skinny Joe. “Not that it matters when the north are so great. You're free to let yourself die.”

“You're always so negative too”, said the second lesbian. “Calm down a little, chad! Not a gigachad move!”

Referencing modern internet culture…? I thought she spent years here, with no contact with the human world, right?

I kind of de-focused on the conversation at that point, them going against Chad, ADHD pushing through.

It was evening again. I faced the window, looked out into the street. Northern-owned. It's the north. That was a hard pill to swallow. Could i step out there? Was it dangerous?

And for the first time since i'd been here, a human client came in. Disheveled, clothing too big, mid-20s. A true hidden local. He wouldn't get human clothes; they'd have to be smuggled in, expensive. Those keeping him from the street probably didn't want to bother with that kind of cost.

I wondered what his story was. Was it the same as mine, brought here by coercion? Brought by what? 

He paired up with a werewolf and went to a sex room.

“What do you reckon his story is?”, i asked Skinny Joe.

“Kidnapped and forced into work someplace”, he said. “He was probably a furry, i reckon.”

“Hmm:..?”, i asked. “A furry?”

“Yeah, furries tend to end up here quite often”, he responded. Not an answer. “They meet up with the right shady people and they can pay a hefty sum to end up here. Most of them are scammers. A few aren't, like the ones he probably contacted.”

“Oh”, i said.

Come to think of it, the loan sharks did push themselves to me as i went on a round of looking for porn, on the furry sites. They said that they could help if i ever got into debt, they could help, that they'd be happy to “accept” me and my plight. That they'd find a use for me whether i paid or not.

Red flags flying everywhere, butterflies in the stomach. But i felt a thrill from thinking about it. I joked; €10,000, please. They wouldn't accept, i thought. My credit rating was too low, i thought. I was a stranger on the internet, i thought; i sent real details but they could be fake details. Not so. They happily wired me the money and i saved myself, got a start in adulthood.

And i was beginning to fall again, fail in socialising, in the non-money matters. I was probably going to get depressed and feel meh again. And then the management came to rescue me, took me here, to this beautiful place. I had my libido taken care of, my basic needs guaranteed, a simple life.

“Yeah, so he probably works in someplace like moped mechanics, judging by the grease”, said Skinny Joe. “Either that or he works in a luxury restaurant. Common path.”

“That's just speculation”, said Muscle Mike. “He looks quite happy in general though.”

For once, positivity from this guy?

“How's life for him?", i asked. "Does he have any friends?”

“Not many, probably just between management and him”, said Skinny Joe. “Well, they are local celebrities if they're chefs. Posters of their face, visible from the street, so maybe not.”

“There are laws against promoting humans, but they always argue it technically isn't promotion because it's ‘for the guests's entertainment’, which doesn't explain why it's always angled at the windows”, he continued. “Not that they're ever punished.”

Interesting.

I thought about humans, how i'd get to see more of them if i left. I want to go to north city one day, see how it's like walking in a street where i could easily be killed for my traits, but just… not. I want to feel the danger and realise it's all ok.

“Are we safe to go outside?”, i asked.

“It's technically ok”, said Skinny Joe. “But i don't think its practically ok.”

“Really?”, i asked.

“If we lose you, we're fucked., said Muscle Mike. “Well, we're fucked anyways, but without you we're even more fucked.”

A werewolf came up to us and interrupted any further conversation. He wanted Muscle Mike.

The night was successful and we made a bunch of money, enough for the loan not to hate us.

I woke up in the middle of the night, hours before sunrise, i was sure. It was the cacophony of gunshots, the noise of a building falling, the bass rumbles as the shells detonated around us. There was a skirmish. A rise of unidentified voices around me swelled up with newfound optimism.

“I think it's the south!”

“Liberation!”

“I'm free!”

Ok, maybe y'all are, but not me.

A werewolf went to the window to watch as the noise of gunshots panned from one side of the room to the other, from the center portion of the city out towards the outskirts. A splash of blood erupted from the back of his head as he fell back and remained motionless. The voices panicked.

“Hairy Hedon is dead!”

“We need to get out of here!”

Skinny Joe slipped into his clothes, Muscle Mike and i having the sense to follow promptly.

We closed ourselves into the 9-werewolf-rated “humans only” safety room, locking the door just before a handful of werewolves threw themselves against the door, begging entry.

We sat comfortably in the bubble, surrounding a padded column in the center. We exchanged glances as the room heated up a degree or two.

“We're fucked”, said Muscle Mike, the first to break the solemn silence of the safety room.

“We're all fucked”, agreed Chad.

Fucked. That had a double meaning. Did they intend it?

Fuck. What did the werewolves outside do for work? They fucked. Did they consent? Barely. Not enough.

I liked it here. But i forgot that they existed. I wasn't the only ones here. Fuck. I liked the novelty. They? What could they possibly enjoy? Wait, how did they know who was gay?

“Wait wait wait wait wait, this is wrong on so many levels”, i said. “So, loan sharks put people into debt and then… then use them for sex work…?! Is this not systemic rape?”

I hadn't thought about this unfortunate fact yet, for whatever reason. Panic set in as i realised just how morally corrupt the place was. Maybe it was Stockholm syndrome. Maybe i liked the management, being dominated by them.

“And you thought they were morally clear?”, asked Muscle Mike. “They're literal fucking criminals.”

And this was one of the few times i realised that i could now agree with Muscle Mike. I hate this place.

“It was in the terms and conditions, though”, said the third lesbian. “They did make it abundantly clear. Not too morally… black.”

"Only on the second-to-last page near the middle”, said Slim Joe. “Hidden where most people skim over, hidden by plenty euphemism, too.”

“These are shady guys, newbie”, said Muscle Mike. “Don't forget that.”

“I thought this place agreed with my fantasy”, i said, a little defeated. I didn't even believe the words that were leaving my mouth. I couldn't shut it in time. “I've always loved my little werewolf dreams.” 

"Well, i hope your fantasy revolves around systematic capitalistic rape and the destruction of hundreds of families”, said the second lesbian. “This is fucking reality, don't forget that. You're not in someone's dreamworld. You're here, in a place with real suffering people.”

“People, i must stress you. Werewolves are us but in a different body”, she continued. “Same brains and very similar mannerisms, what differences there are easily explainable by their little culture. They may seem foreign to you but they share their DNA with you.”

With that final bit of emphasis, she paused in her little tirade.

“Please, Skinny Joe, explain their story”, she said. “Let's put sense into newbie here.”

“Can i not?”, asked Skinny Joe, making a pained expression.

“It's for the best”, said Muscle Mike, resting his palm onto Skinny Joe's knee, with an authoritative squeeze.

"A shack in Wyoming of Oregon Country, 1832. Samuel Prechet-Irving used Agent Yellow to mix the genetic content of a wolf with a human”, recounted Skinny Joe. "Sent into template eggs, grown in 1,000 different artificial wombs, each growing to adulthood within 3 hours through agent brown.”

“Almost all of the results were abominations. Disgusting weird creatures, from a wolf with a wrong-way-turned human head to a human with paws for nipples to a wolf with a tail instead of eyes", said skinny Joe. “Agent Magenta got rid of them, put them out of their suffering before they ever opened their eyes. Well, those who had eyes. They're all gone now, thankfully. all of them. That's what those after him ensured.”

All of them. Wait… really? A hint too much emphasis, a hint too much care to get across that it was, indeed, all of them. “all”. He interrupted my little thought.

“But one was perfect, beautiful, masculine. He used a biopsy of it and replicated the genetic content to form a clan. He kept them in cages", he continued. “He invented women, eventually. Had them living in a field with the men to, er, swell their numbers.”

Muscle Mike mimed a fake little retch. Was it fake?

“Reminder: A genetic study found that it was mostly human genes; the wolf genes mostly played into some superficial aesthetics”, said the first lesbian, dropping in.

“Their numbers grew and they formed a little primitive tribe. Prechet-Irving ran away once they started getting powerful, fearing his life. Coward. Their brains ‘unmushed’ quite quickly to human capacity, within a week."

"Timodore noticed. He setup the portal just near the tribe's old place. That's why there's the portal in Wyoming.”

“Who's Timodore?”, i asked.

“Long story”, replied Skinny Joe.

“Yeah, so herding them into this world", he continued. "Some figured out how to get back, though. One eventually found a protestant outpost and threatened violence if they didn't get what they wanted. He was shot, but not killed, even if in the heart. He got enraged  and stole the goods.”

“They built a society this way, stealing what they didn't have to make what they did. They were primitive, but they managed", said Skinny Joe. “They took what developments the humans had and adapted it for themselves.”

“The colonial government saw and built a pact with the werewolf government”

“We'd get you supplies, but you'd give us help in the labor it took, they said. The werewolves agreed; they saw that violence would be dumb in the long run”

“So we got the supply-getter system and the two societies did work together quite well. Quietly too; civilians couldn't be told, they'd panic.”

I had never known of Prechet-Irving aside from some internet fun fact of questionable validity. “Did you know that a scientist in Wyoming once made a werewolf? They were all killed shortly after due to concerns”, said the post. The comments underneath cast a fire of doubt on it. They shouldn't have.

“What does the federal government do now, then?”, i asked. “I thought machines did the hard work better nowadays…?”

“They use the werewolves to do a bunch of soft internet work. Ever heard of the furry fandom? Massive parts of the commission ecosystem are werewolves doing the work, organised by the government.”

Furry fandom. A hintlet of a lewd smile snuck onto my face as i realised just what i had done before i came here. Oh, freelancing! I remembered just what i was asked to draw and write! They always said “This is boring. Too human, go use animalistic traits." or some version of it. I always begrudgingly accepted and edited the story. Never would i have guessed i was working in tandem with werewolves.

“From there, they formed a cyber-force, for the modern day's woes.", he said. "They import modern tech under contract conditions for this kind of stuff, the main way they edit the human world. A lot of power is available now to the various governments, all managed by the UN. Secretly.”

“Anyways, the Spanish empire eventually caught wind of this and sent a small group of humans up north, though the portal to live with the werewolves and integrate them with Spanish society and culture. They just weren't told how far north.”

“They walked up north to the very tip of the land and they, alongside a group of werewolves, set up a distinct north colony. State of the art”

“Not that it mattered when the south invaded and usurped control from the Spanish empire, who had started neglecting their distant colony, forced English as the lingua franca, started banning Spanish”

“But the north resisted. They had humans to protect, humans who taught them their ways, the clever ways of modern society. And the managed to establish themselves as an exception to the general ‘no humans precaution rule', as long as they accepted the southern control"

“Turns out that was probably the best solution; the northern ideas trickled southwards and helped advance their society, which ultimately pushed humans forward, too.”

“So now we have this situation", he ended.

“Damn”, i said.

“Yeah, they're used to hardship”, said the second lesbian in a somber tone. “So let's not give them more.”

The inspectors began shooting their guns at our safety-bubble. It was bulletproof, even against the presumably larger-grade bullets the werewolves had.

“Humans, out or face a fate worse then death!”, it screamed into the cell. It had quite the gruff, serious voice, one trained from years in the military. Surely, it'd be from the military for such a serious group. It. Those who were willing to kill us for our different bodies, i decided, were not not people, not deserving of a label other than “beast”.

The werewolves were human, i also decided. Just of a weird body.

“Raw intimidation. They don't really have anything better than to shoot you in the knees and incapacitate you”, reassured Skinny Joe. “Not that bad to be honest.”

“Bulletproof to a grade it'd take a cannonball to even dent this shell”, reassured the first lesbian.

“Just ignore them; the lock's high-grade”, said Ortil.

“I'll beat them up if they ever come in”, reassured Anista.

But i've read too many novels and i know just what happens next. We've jinxed it collectively. The doorknob began being shook aggressively. Someone even shot into the keyhole.

They were desperate and they'd get in and we'd be killed, every single one of us. I needed a deus ex machina here. Was anybody watching out? Did anyone know we were here? Did they care?

But this is real life, i thought, hearing the words of the second lesbian pull through my brain yet more. 

We are real people and we're all going to die or be killed, said a certain internal voice.

I gave into that monolouge. I listened to it. It'd distract me from the outside, at least i hoped.

They're gonna come in and shoot us by the kneecaps and use their sharp claws to dig into our arms as we're pulled away from our safe space and made an example of, told we should of gone to the north, we have no place here, we're stuck, we're fucked, we're going to die and it's all my fault. It has to be my fault, of course it does, i'm responsible for so damn much this is so much i have to handle it why am i here why did i get into that car crash i could of escaped but dumb Darren, no dumb me, newbie me, naïve newbie me was the one who let him drive. Was he drunk? Probably. Fuck i have no answers. I'm going to die…! the debt should of never of happened if i was smart, why am i dumb then?! stupid life sutipd debt sutpid me and i'm here riscing deaf and i fucked up so damn bahd…! … ! … !

Skinny Joe saw a worried expression me. If i was in cartoon form, i'd have words scrolling by my eyes at the speed of a thousand horses. Voluminous but not fast, overwhelming yet molasses, drowning yet shallow. The volume was what mattered, not the speed. Brains. Brains are weird. And the humans began putting words in the air to calm me. I stopped assigning them to people and just let them replace the internal monolouge.

“Stop panicking, newbie. You'll be ok.” i won't be ok this is too much i'm going to die here and i'll probably never live be-

“The worst that'll happen is pain. That's manageable. I've had light back pain all my life. I've learnt how to cope." but i haven't and never will because i'll be dead and forever unconscious and there's nothing i can d-

“just imagine a blue dot on a white wall and time its rythmic swelling with your breathing. Detach the consciousness from its mech-suit.” no i can't do that i'm not capable i'm not good enough and i never will be

“In all my time building i've never seen a lock this so secure” but just how much experience do you have?

That was Muscle Mike who said it, right? He was the only builder here.

“We're lucky here, i guess.” no we're not fuck you leave me alone let me suffer in silence i'm all alone or at least i'm supposed t-

A hand clasped my thigh. I jerked away but then accepted as it simply tightened its grip. He, no, she told me that “it's going to be ok". Anista had told me.

The banging against the door faded down.

And yet again we were alone.

“As i said, raw intimidation”, said Skinny Joe. "Management shut all the safe-rooms, they'll waste their time with the others."

A weak excuse. They could easily continue their barrage against us at a later time and get in.

They'd storm in, shooting their guns into each of our skills. We're dangerous, of course, as humans, small and cunning creatures. We could get into places werewolves couldn't. They'd make sure we only ever visit the afterlife, prevent us from a life of crime we could possibly take up, too sneaky to do anything.

Am i making sense? I'm too stressed to think logically.

“Worst they could do is detonate an explosive underneath”, stated Muscle Mike. “We're padded and safe here. Nothing's going to fuck with us.”

“Go to sleep”, advised someone. I stopped being able to attach voices to people again with a wave of tiredness washing over me, a harsh reminder. Did adrenaline fade that quickly? “Everyone, we'll be better in the morning.”

There's no natural light here and we'll never know if its morning unless we open the window and look and that might reveal the barrel of a gun aimed straight at us and kill us

“Is the glass bulletproof?”, i asked in a shaky tone. "I'd like to see daylight.”

“Of course it is”, said Skinny Joe.

Lawyers weren't supposed to lie. Slimy, but not liars. I had to trust him for my own well-being, anyways.

I opened the window to let in the harsh light of the brothel in.

The dim light shut off, turned off by someone sitting near the vaultlike door. 

Skinny joe held my shoulder and pulled me close. He'd been through this before, i was sure.

I feel nothing. No tingles. Calm. Quiet. Ok, there are some bombshells exploding. Calm, though. I like that. Oh, i can hear his breathing. That's better.

I timed my breaths to his.

If i focus on that blue dot, actually, maybe green, i can ignore the panic. I think i drank too much coffee. I didn't. I haven't drank it for weeks now. I feel great. Well, generally, not right now. I feel scared, a little. No, just the familiar impending doom feeling. Yes. It's rushing and twisting and destroying my stomach.

Muscle Mike's stomach gargled.

This is ok, i guess. It's getting warm here. I'm sure there's mist on the windows. Well, not windows, the stainless steel. I remember mist, driving from Zaragoza to Madrid. Crossed the morning fog. It was beautiful. Desert in fog. Lovely.

It was a good sign my monologue was going back to its pre-sleep ramblings. Sleep was coming soon. I'll fall asleep soon. Just don't dwell on sleeping and it'll come.

Haha, sleep. As if. Is now the appropriate time? What if they invade? They will and we'll be fucked. I'm sure they have angle grinders. Is bulletproof steel good against angle grinders? Angle grinders. They're interesting. A 90-degree handle for holding it. A dangerous blade.

Muscle Mike, could you ramble about angle grinders for me? It'd be nice to sleep to. No, i mustn't disturb the others.

Muscle Mike. It's weird how people become so negative. Do they just let themselves hate everything? Could i become that by accident? I need my naïve optimism, damn. It's my most powerful asset, i guess. I love my naïve optimism. It pushes me through things, i think. I like it. Oh, i want my journal again. I should write about everything that's happened. I did that once in the hospital, it was amazing. Does straight-ears have paper? Who am i kidding? No, the brothel's too dangerous for flammable paper. No, i'll write about my experience when i come back to earth. Will i ever? I don't know. I love myself. Well, not now. I love Skinny Joe for embracing me as one of the people. I never realised how weird that could be maybe i cou-

How did the werewolves get me from Barcelona to Wyoming? What fucking magic did they use? I don't know. I don't know enough. That's weird.

I was awake. I had slept. Dark. It's like a sauna in here. Weird, i'm still tired, but the sleep doesn't bite.

Nobody else was awake. I was alone.

Well, i couldn't tell. Skinny Joe was still asleep. He'd slumped over. Had we all slumped over? Muscle Mike was slumped onto me, so probably.

I thought about last night. What did we talk about? It started with the locks, no my questions about the government… did i ask them out of the blue? No, they came from the talk about history which came from what….?

I mentally scanned over my last memory of the bubble. Of course, it was the second lesbian asking Skinny Joe to recount the story. Why? Oh, yeah, this entire place was immoral.

I let that thought roll in my head. I'd imagine life as a category V. It'd really suck, i thought. So damn much working and so little pay. Decades.

I'd never have wanted to be here, maybe, as this hypothetical category V. Raped by my system, my pimp pushing me to work. They'd say it's part of the contract i “agreed to”. Not fair; you didn't say it clearly.

How would it have came to be?

I hypothetically had needed the money quickly to prevent true personal disaster. The irony. I wasn't greedy, was i? Ok, let's fix that. I had a hypothetical house with a hypothetical problem threatening its soon-to-be-hypothetical structural rigidity. It was going down soon if i didn't pay for a contractor to fix it. Not that i had the funds, i worked overtime, broke the law in some places, almost killed myself.

Peanuts. Nothing. Not a single cent could go into rebuilding my life, being sucked into my liabilities instead, growing liabilities.

I was fucked. Luckily, these loan sharks, their happy smiles. “Sign here and you'll have no problems”. A big promise.

Ugh, language is so fucking slimy. If only i knew they meant “and what you think are problems will stop mattering because we're assholes and we'll give you much bigger things to worry about”. And they'd probably nonchalantly add “(double meaning intended)” to this expanded definition if they ever would have said it.

Fuck. That's what was going to happen to hypothetical me. He'd be sent here to work for most of his life to pay off an irrelevant debt now, to let himself die.

I half-retched when i realised that i was beginning to imagine myself, an irrelevant debt pinning me here. The insurance should have paid, said Skinny Joe's words. My had began ranting again.

They should have paid. Now you're here, a key part of a human rights movement you never knew existed, a war around you. You're safe here, well, probably. But reliability isn't. Don't think you'll ever get back. There is no concept of normal here. There's the present and what happened in the past. My journey's been crazy. Too fucking insane. And i'm here now, facing what could be my end, in a strange world. Nobody i cared for knows where i am. How much money's being wasted searching for me? Do they know to search in Wyoming, in the middle of shitass fucking nowhere? Aren't the portals guarded? Hidden? That'd make much sense. Make it a hidden place, Area 34 or something.

Wait, i've never faced conflict here; everything has been done for me, the other humans, the werewolves, heck, the war, they all swooped in and solved my problems before i could have a go fixing them. Am i an interesting person? Would people care to read my story? Shit.

I'm boring. I haven't changed much. I'm still a werewolf-loving slut. I have no conflict, no problems, why am i so panicked? This entire safe-room exists to protect me. Is that not a symbol of my life, bubbled and protected from any conflict? I'm pathetic. Do i have plot armour? Am i even the main character here? Who is? The conflict? Society? The human rights movement? Is this all post-modernist shit? Do i even matter in the big machine? I'd certainly be better off without it.

A tear welled up without me realising. It gave my emotions something to coalesce into, fresh release. My hands had somehow wrapped themselves around Skinny Joe, so it was difficult to wipe it away without waking him. I felt it chart its downward course, down my face. It tickled, a welcome distraction.

I stifled a sob. Still audible. Fuck.

“Going through something, huh?”, asked Ortil in a hushed tone. Support.

I took a second to think.

“I imagined life through the eyes of a category V, and then i saw myself, i guess”, i said in a stifled-crying way. “I don't like myself anymore.”

“That happened to me a while back”, she said. “I thought i was living the life, a good pimp, a good arrangement here.”

“I escaped my bad pimp and came to one of the best brothel's i've ever worked in”, she continued. “How fucking ironic that it's perhaps the most morally degraded. The fucking worst.”

“And then i had a think”, she continued.

“There were only a handful of humans i could ask for support from. None of them understood.”

“They were still blinded. Furries, every single one of them, seeing their new life as nothing but good. Optimism blinds you. I'm glad you took off the blindfold."

“Thanks.”, i replied. “I want to fix this.”

“That's much easier now”, she said. “What with the north's little invasion.”

Fix the brothel and make it give us all a clear conscience. We deserve a better existence. My new goal had arrived. Face the problems for once.

“Oh, you weren't awake. In summary - the inspectors destroyed the place. There was a fight between management.”, she said. “I think black-arms started it, seeking to distract the prostitutes from the reality of the escape available. And then there was the fire, probably lit by the inspector realising just how much sin there is concentrated here.”

Burn the bad energy, i guess. My monologue came out, thoughts as raw concepts, packaged neatly. I expanded them into language to understand them, to turn them over, disect them.

Black-arms. It's easy to imagine what happened; inspectors invade, the coward ran upstairs to tell someone, find support against them. He went to yellow-arms to gnabber support. Competing opinions, of some kind. Cremation was his punishment for valuing the money over the people. I knew it was an act.

He's a selfish asshole. He's just yet another manager, seeking profit over anything. Would he even be here? Has he ran off to some Dacha out in the countryside to live off the money he stole from our labour? Assholes suck. Well, no they let out bunches of shit. No difference either way. 

He was complicit in this systemic rape. Why had he never went to fix this?

Nothing to dissect. It's all true. Power corrupts, and his absolute power corrupted absolutely.

“So… are we going to survive?”

“If we're clever, yes. Stay under the radar until the south is confident they have control.”

“I suggest we split. Half of us go north, the other half stay south”, said the now awake Anista. She had been listening, i was sure.

“There's a struggling brothel up north. We've been having correspondence and they're ready to accept our lead”, she said.

“And we can supply money”, said a very quiet Skinny Joe, having just woken up.

“Suggestion: Anista, Ortil, and newbie all go north. You'll do well together, i think. We stay south and rebuild the place”, he said. Quietly he continued. “Chad and Muscle Mike are pessimists but they're good for force, good guards, keep the brothel in order. The Lesbians would do well to manage.”

“Interesting”, Anista said. "Explain how we contribute to our brothel.”

“Simple; Anista's a good bouncer, Ortil's for brains and management, and Newbie… he can either use his horny to become a world-class prostitute or learn how to manage money for once.”

“I'm in”, said Anista.

“Anything to get away from Chad, he's a creep”, said Ortil.

“I'm happy to do both during my time”, i said. A hint of perversion in a smile i accidentally left out.

“Good”, said Slim Joe. “It's daylight, so time we get out.”

“Well, we'll find a way, i guess, no matter what happened”, said Anista. “Yeah. When they wake up, we're going out and seeing just what we can do to make the brothel a phoenix.”

The end of Indebted part 7; stay tuned for the next part where we learn about the true extent of the destruction

Some notes:

• Thoughts on Coffee (oh damn, i got distracted from writing and then distracted from getting distracted. Ugh)
  • I haven't drank coffee for a week and on Tuesday i drank my first full flask. The anxiety pangs were worth it for the fact i could choose what to focus on. Noticed the protagonist daydreaming in part 5 when faced with work? That's his lack of pills, the ones given a price in part 1.
  • Today's flask has been much kinder for me. Less crippling anxiety (ironically leading me to not focus) and more focus. I wish i could be like this all the time. Do others have the innate superpower of being able to choose what to focus on?
  • Seriously, if you can choose a section of time, assign it to a specific task, and actually do the task within time, you're a superhuman in my books (ok, not this one lol).
  • Fuck, i've just realised that why i'm less productively-driven on weekends is because i skip coffee to destroy the tolerance i build up.
  • Is it doping for me to drink coffee before my a-level exams? Should i suffer myself simply for being born this way or should i use what advantage i have? Which is morally right? Should i prioritise my future over fairness? Should i prioritise fairness over being my best?
  • I should probably revise instead of writing erotica. Eh, i'll leave that to my evening free period because trying to do maths makes me feel really shitty and when i go home the feelings tend to stay mostly at school.
  • Yes, i am over the age of majority; the second year of a-levels hit me after my 18th birthday. Just so happens my college is integrated with a secondary school, thus “school”
• Some facts on the werewolf society i haven't slotted into the narrative yet.
  • The werewolf society is formed of a single country roughly the size of Spain (which is the second largest country entirely (excluding those silly islands in the middle of nowhere) within continental Europe)
  • The north is a bit Scandinavian in climate, the south more south-France
  • The country is split into these levels of power:
    • Community - The largest level; think of how the UK has splits like Wales and England or Spain has splits like Madrid, Andalusia, and Aragon
    • Province - Each community has a handful of them, each centred on a specific regional city. Think of Catalonia's Lleida, Tarragona, Girona, and Barcelona
    • County -  Centered around main towns in each province
    • Municipality - A general term for the region controlled by a settlement, be it a village or city. Think of the Catalan ajuntamentos.
• Am i expressing my political views too much here? I'm certainly the kind of guy who'd accept higher taxes if they went into verifiable “public good”, and the characters just so happen to be the same.
• Characters
  • I've just realised the protagonist is basically just a massive Mary Sue, has too little conflict, and has a too-easy time. I'm working on making him intresting.
  • This is why i included that little dialouge in the safety pod. They might be safe from the external conflict of the army, but are they safe from the guilt?
  • Guilt's really the only way to cast conflict over the entire published part of the series
• Yes, history diverges slightly in the 1830s, but not much; the werewolves are contained and history carries on as usual. Well, “usual”, save for the 20 border guards on the human side sponsored by the UN to keep werewolves in save for special circumstances, from the supply-getters to bribes.
• The internal monolouge is based off my own. At times, i let it write the story for me. Also, i do sleep by letting it waffle like this. I don't wake up to it though. That was a narrative tool.
• Selected quote explanations
  • “We're just a metaphor”
    • Not intended to be a meta-talk about the story, yet can be taken as such.
    • Mainly intended to say the brothel itself being used as a metaphor by the two sides
    • Has the light intention of foreshadowing my plans for the sequel to Indebted.
  • “Not that it matters when the north are so great. You're free to let yourself die.”
    • (yes, i am trying to annoy the reader here)
    • This quote is a foreshadow.
    • I am challenging a different author who i really don't like anymore, where in his story, “Characters repeatedly bring up plot relevant conversation topics that are then immediately shot down by some other character.”, as per Reddit user possuHorizontal line. Press Enter to type after or press Shift + Enter to type before the widgetmpecker's words.
  • “I hadn't thought about this unfortunate fact yet, for whatever reason.” [as referring to the entire brothel being wrong]
    • “Whatever reason” turns out to be divine distraction.
    • I'm so sorry for not mentioning this earlier
    • I'm going to blame it on the ADHD he's supposed to have lol; he keeps getting distracted from being distracted by such thoughts growing from little seeds.
  • “This is fucking reality, don't forget that. You're not in someone's dreamworld.”
    • Yes, this is designed to be ironic
    • I'm playing with you. This is fiction.
    • Please, please, i seriously urge you, don't take debt from loan sharks because they're most likely to be regular boring violence-based loan shakes rather than the werewolves i wrote
    • Heck, even those have shady ethics and probably aren't good people to hang around with.
• I'd like to thank Drugor and JokuuVan for their 5/5 ratings and favorites for this series thus far on Indebted. You're the kind of people that help remind me that practicing the craft of writing and helping vent my own desires is a positive thing. I will continue!