Sadly their cliente weren't very pleasant ones the beatings, and the abuse, it had left them broken inside and out.
The scars on their bodies and souls seemed to leave no room for hope.
"I know,"
Yin replied, her voice cracking
"But it'll be over soon. Just one last hit… and we won't feel anything anymore."
Yang glanced at the syringe in her sister's hand, her eyes filled with sadness.
"Are we really doing this?"
Yin nodded, tears welling up in her eyes.
"We have nothing left, Yang. No future. No escape."
She raised the syringe to her arm, but before she could press it to her skin, Yangs holo-phone chimed from across the room, the sound piercing the suffocating silence.
Yin paused, looking at the device with a faint hint of irritation.
"Who the f*ck is sending notifications now?"
Yang, almost on autopilot, shuffled over to her cracked holo-phone, her fingers shaking as she picked it up.
A new notification flashed across the screen.
New Upload from the Iron Fenrirs: "Do you want to change your fate?"
She stared at the title for a moment, her brow furrowing.
She remembered the name everyone did. The Iron Fenrirs were all over the Galactic Net lately, thanks to their wild antics and impossible survival stories.
"Hey, Yin,"
Yang said quietly, her voice barely audible.
"It's… them. The Iron Fenrirs."
Yin lowered the syringe, her interest piqued, but her face was still marred with despair.
"Why the f*ck would they matter to us now?"
Yang, instead of answering, tapped the notification and played the video.
The one room apartment that was In a serious need of overhaul was filled with intense music, the beat vibrating through the walls.
The twins watched as the screen flashed with scenes of brutal combat, of men standing tall amidst the chaos, their weapons blazing, their eyes fierce.
They saw Dracula, his voice cutting through the noise, calm yet commanding.
"Do you want to change your fate?"
The words seemed to echo through the room, cutting deeper than any insult or beating they'd ever endured.
"Do you want to explore the unknown?"
Yins hand loosened on the syringe as she watched, her breath catching in her throat.
"Do you want to be strong? To fight for something bigger than yourself?"
The final scene, the battle brothers howling together, their bond evident even through the screen, sent a shiver down Yins spine.
She felt something crack inside her, something she hadn't felt in so long, hope. It was small, fragile, but it was there.
Yang wiped her eyes, tears streaming down her bruised face.
"Yin, what if... what if we could change everything? What if we didn't have to die like this?"
Yin stared at the screen, her heart racing. It was impossible, wasn't it? They were nothing but corporate debt s*aves slash p*orst*tutes. What could they offer an outfit like the Iron Fenrirs?
But the idea… the idea of escaping, of fighting, of becoming something more than a common w*ore surviving on scraps, gripped her.
Her hand trembled as she put the syringe down on the dirty mattress beside her.
"They wouldn't want us,"
Yin said softly, her voice wavering.
Yang shook her head, her eyes filled with a renewed intensity.
"Look at them, Yin. They're warriors, sure, but they weren't born like that. They're just people like us. They fought, they survived, and now they're f*cking legends. We can be like them."
Yins heart pounded in her chest. She opened the registration link attached to the video, her hands shaking.
The screen flickered, displaying the message:
"Join the Iron Fenrirs: Registration Open"
The form was simple, name, age, and reason for joining. Yang glanced at her sister, her eyes pleading.
"We can do this. We can f*cking do this."
Yin bit her lip, hesitating for only a moment before nodding. Her fingers flew across the screen as she filled out the form for both of them.
Name: Yin Yagami
Age: 20
Reason for Joining: "To survive. To escape."
Name: Yang Yagami
Age: 20
Reason for Joining: "To be strong. To be free."
They both hit "Submit" at the same time.
For a few agonizing moments, the screen loaded, and then:
"Registration Complete. Await Confirmation."
Yang exhaled, her body shaking with adrenaline.
"We did it. Holy sh*t, we actually did it."
Yin couldn't believe it. The thought of fighting, of escaping their fate, of being more than just others tools of pleasure, it felt like a dream.
"We're not dead yet,"
Yin whispered, a small smile forming on her lips for the first time in what felt like years.
Yang grinned, wiping away her tears.
"Not dead. Just getting started."
The twins sat together, their bodies still bruised and battered, but with something new in their hearts, hope.
They didn't know if they'd make it through whatever trials the Iron Fenrirs would put them through, but one thing was certain: they weren't giving up. Not now. Not ever.
They had just signed up to fight for their freedom, and they weren't going to waste the opportunity.
"To be strong..."
Yin muttered, the weight of the syringe forgotten.
"To be free..."
...
The loud bass thumped through the walls of the VIP-only gentleman's club, the neon lights outside flickering in shades of pink and blue.
Inside, the air was thick with cigar smoke, stench of old c*nts, expensive cologne, and the underlying tension of money being thrown around like confetti.
The club was a playground for the rich, the powerful, and the morally bankrupt a place where indulgence was the only rule.
Morgana Kane adjusted the straps of her black satin bunny outfit, the corset hugging her slim yet athletic frame.
Her long legs were encased in fishnet stockings, ending in heels that hurt like hell after the first hour.
The bunny ears on her head felt ridiculous, but she'd learned to live with the humiliation.
It was just another part of her life as a corporate s*ave of nexus mega corporation.
Her eyes, sharp and a shade of orange, scanned the room as she balanced a tray of overpriced drinks, weaving through the crowd of leering old enough men to be her grandpa in tailored suits and drunken laughter.
At just 19 years old, Morgana had the kind of beauty that drew attention whether she wanted it or not sharp cheekbones, pouty lips, and a defiant edge to her gaze that made her look older than she was. But tonight, as always, her focus was survival.
"Smile more,"
Her manager's voice echoed in her mind, remembering his slimy tone from earlier.
"Clients pay for service and entertainment. Don't give them that b*tchy look of yours. You're lucky you even have a job like this one the less fortunate ones end up as p*os*itues from the start"
She hated this place with every fiber of her being. The club wasn't just degrading, it was dangerous.
The men here had money, power, and the knowledge that no one would stop them from taking what they wanted, even if they killed or r*ped someone they had enough money to get scott free no questions asked and the staff? Disposable.
As Morgana leaned over to place a drink on one of the low tables in the VIP area, she felt a hand slide up her thigh. Her entire body stiffened as bile rose in her throat.
The culprit was a corpulent old man, his suit stretched tight around his swollen gut.
His face was flushed red from alcohol, and the stench of whiskey and cigar smoke clung to him.
"Well, aren't you a pretty little thing,"
He slurred, his hand traveling higher.
Morgana grabbed his wrist, her grip surprisingly firm.
"Keep your hands to yourself,"
She said, her voice low and controlled, though her heart was pounding in her chest.
The man's bloodshot eyes widened in shock, then narrowed with anger.
"Excuse me? You little b*tch, do you know who I am?!"
"I don't care,"
Morgana shot back, straightening up and stepping out of his reach.
"Order a drink, enjoy the show, but don't touch me again."
The surrounding men chuckled uneasily, some of them whispering about how bold she was, but others scowling at her refusal. The old man's face twisted in rage.
"You're gonna regret that,"
He hissed, slamming his glass down on the table.
Not even ten minutes later, Morgana found herself being dragged through the back exit of the club by two of the club's "security" goons a pair of thugs who looked more like gangsters than bouncers.
"Let go of me!"
Morgana snarled, struggling against their grip.
"Shut it,"
One of the men growled, his grip like iron around her arm.
They threw her into the damp, garbage-strewn alley behind the club, the stench of rotting food and industrial waste hitting her like a wall.
The first thug, a bald man with a scar running down his cheek, cracked his knuckles as he loomed over her.
The other, a wiry man with tattoos snaking up his neck, leaned against the wall, lighting a cigarette.
"You think you can disrespect a VIP like that, huh?"
Scarface sneered, his voice low and menacing.
"You're nothing more than a corporate s*ave. You do what you're told, and you keep your mouth shut. Got it?"
Morgana glared up at him, her orange eyes defiant despite the fear tightening her chest.
"F*ck you Im not a f*cking w*ore"
She spat.
That earned her a hard slap across the face, the force of it snapping her head to the side. Her cheek burned, and her vision blurred as tears stung her eyes, but she refused to cry.
"Bad move, sweetheart,"
Tattoo said, exhaling a cloud of smoke.
Scarface grabbed her by her long loose crimson hair, yanking her head back so she was forced to look up at him.
"Let me teach you some respect,"
He growled, raising his fist.
The first punch landed squarely in her stomach, knocking the wind out of her. Morgana doubled over, gasping for air, but Scarface didn't stop.
He drove his knee into her ribs, and she fell to the ground, clutching her side in agony.
"You think you're better than us?"
He snarled, kicking her in the side.
"You're nothing. Just another piece of corporate trash."
Morgana curled into a ball, trying to protect herself as the kicks and punches kept coming.
Her body screamed in pain, her vision swimming as she felt blood trickle from her split lip.
As Morgana lay on the ground, struggling to stay conscious, Tattoo stepped forward, a cruel grin spreading across his face.
"Let's teach this b*tch a real lesson,"
He said, unbuckling his belt.
Morgana's blood ran cold. Her body shook with fear as she realized what he was about to do.
"No... no, please,"
She whispered, her voice breaking for the first time.
"Are you insane?!"
Scarface barked, grabbing Tattoo by the arm.
"What?"
Tattoo snapped, clearly annoyed.
"She's company property, you idiot! If we touch her like that, it's *our* asses on the line. You want to end up swimming with the fishes with youre organs sold on the black market tomorrow?"
Tattoo cursed under his breath, spitting angrily on the ground. He kicked Morgana one last time, his boot slamming into her shoulder.
"You better do what youre being paid to do next time,"
He growled, venom dripping from his words.
With that, the two thugs walked away, leaving Morgana battered, bloodied, and alone in the filthy alley.
The second the door slammed shut behind ther, Morgana let out a choked sob.
Her whole body trembled as the pain and humiliation washed over her in waves.
She pulled herself into a sitting position, her back against the cold, dirty wall.
Blood dripped from her nose and lip, staining the front of her bunny outfit.
For the first time in years, Morgana felt completely and utterly powerless, all it took was to take a loan and get kicked out from college just because she didnt have enough money to bribe the teachers, resulting In her becoming a corporate s*ave because she had no way to pay her montly loan check.
"F*ck this,"
She whispered, her voice shaking as tears streamed down her face.
"F*ck all of this."
Her holo-phone chimed from the ground where it had fallen during the beating. With shaky hands, she picked it up, the cracked screen flickering to life.
The advertisement playing on the screen caught her attention. "Join the Iron Fenrirs: Do you want to change your fate?"
Morgana stared at the screen, her bloodied face reflected in the glass. Something inside her shifted.
"A chance to change my fate,"
She whispered to herself.
Her fingers hovered over the recruitment link. She hesitated for only a second before pressing it, a steely determination hardening in her eyes.
This was her chance. Her way out.
She wasn't going to be a victim anymore.
...
The sun was setting over the industrial skyline of E*rths Industrial sector, its dying rays casting a dull orange glow over the endless sprawl of smokestacks and megacorporate skyscrapers.
It was a city that thrived on servitude and debt a massive machine designed to chew people up and spit them out.
For Catherine Belmont sporting long loose green hair and black eyes , 18 years old and shackled by the burden of her family's crushing debts, it felt like there was no escape.
She sat quietly at the edge of her bed in the cramped apartment she shared with her parents, her hands clutching a holographic photo of herself as a child, smiling alongside her mother and father during better days. Days when they still had their dignity.
But those days were long gone. The Belmont family had been struggling for years, their small manufacturing company crushed under the weight of rising taxes and predatory corporate loans.
Her parents had tried everything to stay afloat taking side jobs, cutting corners, even selling off prized possessions but it hadn't been enough.
And now… now they had a plan, one that Catherine couldn't stomach.
"Catherine!"
Her mother's voice called sharply from the next room.
She took a deep breath, pushing back the anger that had been boiling in her chest all day, and stepped into the small living room.
Her father, Martin Belmont, stood with his arms crossed, his face lined with exhaustion and worry.
Her mother, Evelyn, sat on the worn-out couch, nervously fiddling with her hands.
"You wanted to talk to me?"
Catherine asked, her voice tense. She already had a sinking feeling about what this was going to be.
Her father cleared his throat, avoiding her eyes.
"Yes. Sit down, Catherine. We need to discuss… the debt."
She didn't sit. She stayed standing, her arms crossed defensively as she looked between them.
"What about it?"
Evelyn hesitated, her eyes darting to Martin for support. He sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair.
"The creditors have made an offer. There's a young master from Kestral Industries interested in… securing the debt."
"'Securing the debt?'"
Catherine repeated, her voice icy.
"You mean selling me off like a piece of property."
Her mother flinched, but her father's face hardened.
"Watch your tone, Catherine. You know we don't have a choice! If we don't pay them back soon, they'll take everything, the apartment, what's left of the factory, everything!"
"So you're just going to hand me over to some corporate scumbag to cover your losses?"
Catherine snapped, her voice trembling with rage.
"I'm your daughter, not a g*ddamn w*ore to be sold off!"
Her father slammed his hand down on the table, his voice rising.
"Don't you dare act like you're above this! We're trying to save this family! Do you think we like this? Do you think we want to do this to you?"
Evelyn began to sob quietly, but Catherine's focus was locked on her father, her blood boiling.
"If you go through with this,"
She said, her voice low and dangerous, "you'll lose me. Forever. I swear to G*ds, I'll never forgive you."
Martin's expression wavered, but he quickly steeled himself.
"We don't have any other options, Catherine. Unless you've got some miracle solution, this is the only way out."
Hours later, Catherine sat alone in her room, staring blankly at her holo-phone.
The sound of her parents arguing in the next room was muffled through the thin walls.
Her hands trembled as she swiped through job listings on the galactic employment network.
Everything she found was either a scam, a dead end, or required qualifications she didn't have.
She couldn't let them sell her off. She wouldn't allow herself to become someones plaything.
Just as she was about to give up, a recruitment advertisement caught her eye:
"Join the Iron Fenrirs: Do you want to change your fate?"
She watched the video that made her blood boil and at the end of It a deep, commanding voice narrated:
"Do you want to change youre fate?"
Catherine's heart pounded as she watched the video.
It seemed almost too good to be true. She quickly opened the application link, her hands shaking as she filled out the forms.
When she reached the section asking if she had any financial burdens or special circumstances, she hesitated. Taking a deep breath, she typed:
"I need at least three times the amount of my family's debt."
She knew it was a long shot. No one would pay that much for someone like her. But what did she have to lose?
Just minutes later a response came as It did she opened the message. Her jaw dropped as she read the words on the screen:
"Request approved. Funds transferred to your account, wait for further Instructions"
Her hands shook as she opened her bank account.
The numbers stared back at her, cold and undeniable.
They'd done it. The Iron Fenrirs had paid off her family's debt and then some.
For a moment, she just sat there in stunned silence. Then, slowly, the numbness gave way to anger.
Catherine stormed into the living room, her holo-phone in hand.
Her parents looked up in surprise, but before they could say a word, she slammed the device down on the table, the screen displaying the bank account balance for them to see.
"I took care of it,"
She said, her voice trembling with barely contained fury.
Her father's eyes widened as he read the numbers.
"H-How…?"
"It doesn't matter how,"
Catherine snapped.
"What matters is that you're signing this."
She pulled up a digital contract on her holo-phone and slid it toward her father.
"This says that you agree not to sell me off, now or ever. The moment I join the Iron Fenrirs, I'll transfer the money to your account. All of it. But if you go back on your word, I'll make sure you lose everything."
Martin looked at her, his face a mix of shock and guilt.
"Catherine, I"
"Sign it,"
She interrupted, her voice cold and unyielding.
"Or I walk out that door right now, and you'll never see me again."
Her father hesitated, then signed the contract with his fingerprint Evelyn let out a soft sob, covering her face with her hands.
...
I sat at my seat, staring at the flood of incoming applications that kept pouring in ever since I uploaded that recruitment video.
My HUD view lit up with notification after notification, a cascade of desperate people signing up for a chance at something different, something better.
A lot of them were debt-ridden corporate s*aves, people who'd been chewed up and spat out by rotten to the core human society, clinging to the slim hope that the Iron Fenrirs would offer them a shot at survival.
"F*ck me,"
I muttered under my breath, massaging the bridge of my nose as I scrolled through the endless entries.
"What's the tally now?"
Paul asked, casually leaning against his seat while sipping his beer.
"Over 30,000 applications,"
I replied, exhaling heavily.
"And we only need 10,000 crew, most of these people won't make the cut."
Julian, sitting lazily in his chair, raised an eyebrow.
"We really stirred the pot, huh?"
Darius, who'd been cleaning his combat knive, grunted.
"More like we kicked it over."
I couldn't argue with him. The flood of applications had overwhelmed even our own expectations.
As I scrolled through the lists, I saw all sorts of people, from homeless ones to desperate debt s*aves, their stories painted a grim picture of just how bad things were for the common people In UNOE.
I sighed.
"Alright, let's get to work. I'm accepting those that meet our basic requirements. No liabilities. I don't need people breaking under pressure or causing drama in the middle of a firefight."
Airid chuckled.
"No shortage of those. Seen a few applications where they couldn't even spell 'survival.'"
Ignoring his remark, I continued scanning. Yin and Yang Yagami's, Morganas Kanes and Catherines Belmonts application popped up, standing out from the masses.
I read through their reasons for joining: "To survive. To escape." and "To be strong. To be free."
"Interesting,"
I muttered, pulling up their backgrounds. Their stories of corporate debt and abuse struck a chord.
These weren't just any random applicants, they were two people who had already been to hell and back.
"Accepting these four,"
I said aloud.
Paul raised an eyebrow.
"Who?"
I sent him the profiles, and he nodded approvingly.
"Desperate, but they've got the fight in them. Sounds like they'd be determined to survive, at least."
Julian smirked.
"Better than some of the other bullsh*t we've seen. Let's see if they can handle what's coming."
I accepted their registration, sending them confirmation messages and telling them to meet us at the Citadel once the frigate was ready in two months and two weeks.