IBP C1 Part 2

Kibbus pressed closer to me. I subtly pulled my hand away from his grasp and shook my head imperceptibly.

Even if it wasn’t as significant as my identity as an investigator, it wouldn’t be beneficial for our acquaintance to be revealed. Fortunately, he seemed to understand, subtly creating some distance with anxious eyes. That was enough.

I observed the copulation between humans and statues with sunken eyes. Even to my untrained eye, the form and finish of the statues were exquisite. If it weren’t for the pale skin and pupil-less eyes, they would have been convincing enough to be mistaken for living beings. It seemed like a Pygmalion with a clear vision and the skill to realize it existed even in this era.

The dildos attached to the statues churned the insides of the humans with force and rhythm impossible for a human. In fact, the movement was closer to pulverizing than churning.

While I’m no expert on sculpture, I know a thing or two about male-to-male sex. At that level, it wouldn’t be surprising if their lower regions were already drenched in blood and the ends of their rectums were protruding.

Despite that, the faces of the men, eyes rolled back and drool dripping, were filled with intense pleasure.

The meaning of body modification became clearer to me than the moment I realized I was missing my glasses. The smoothly finished path seemed to pull at my feet as if it were miles high. When I came to my senses, I had drifted to the very back of the line. The muzzle of a gun poked my back.

“Walk faster.”

I wasn’t as vaguely and distantly terrified as I was at the dock. I briefly imagined seizing the man’s gun. No matter how I ran the simulation in my head, the result was my death.

Even if I succeeded in taking the gun and shooting down the others one by one, I’d be killed by the remaining ones I couldn’t subdue. I quelled my rage as I looked down at my naked corpse sprawled on the ground.

A group of people was waiting in front of the mansion. The armed personnel who escorted us spoke to the man at the front of the group, then bowed their heads and disappeared. Despite all the armed combatants leaving, not a single person tried to escape or move.

The young, well-built man in a sharp suit, who had spoken with the leader of the armed personnel, introduced himself as the head butler, ‘Morer.’ His hair was well-groomed black, and his eyes were even darker.

He spoke politely, but his eyes looked at us like objects.

Those standing behind him, dressed similarly, were the staff. Simply put, he explained they were the employees who managed the island and catered to the guests’ needs.

Island.

The casually mentioned word struck my heart like a judge’s sentence. Morer explained that, as we had seen on the way here, we would become slaves on this island, providing services for the guests’ pleasure, and that we would undergo a week of basic training and education for that purpose.

He added a warning that there would be appropriate punishment, depending on the severity, for causing trouble, such as disobeying orders or attempting to escape. The color drained from people’s faces. As if waiting for this, Morer pulled out a carrot.

“Your stay on the island as slaves is three years. After three years, you will all be returned to where you were originally.”

“…?!”

“At that time, all memories of this place will be erased, and each of you will be paid three hundred thousand credits.”

“Three hund…!”

People gasped. It seemed that the three hundred thousand credits were more shocking than the promise of being returned. I understood. I felt the same way.

It was a sum impossible to grasp immediately. How much was the price of a house in the wealthy area of Zone 1? I was pretty sure it was around thirty thousand credits? They were offering ten times that?

“We cannot accept requests to be sent back now in exchange for forfeiting the money. I ask for your understanding. However, if you diligently follow the island’s instructions during your stay, I can assure you that your safety and compensation will be guaranteed.”

Morer emphasized that since the island’s existence must remain hidden, the payment methods would vary but would all be delivered through acceptable channels.

The fact that we were standing naked, the still-audible moans from the path we had just walked, stimulating our nerves, the fact that we would be subjected to a similar fate for three years—all of it momentarily faded away.

Morer, after surveying the restless group, snapped his fingers. The staff, moving with not a wasted motion, surrounded us at regular intervals. The same positions as the armed personnel. Morer turned with a controlled, elegant movement.

“Now, follow me.”

As he led the group, he continued to divulge information that the new slaves needed to know.

“The island’s residents are broadly classified into three categories. There is one exception… I will tell you about that later. What you need to know now are the typical residents. One is the Guards. They are responsible for security and order. The ones who brought you here. They are composed of active-duty veteran mercenaries. Another is the staff, including myself. Consider us the island’s managers, or employees. We handle all sorts of miscellaneous tasks that occur here, and it’s also our role to ensure the comfort of the guests and yourselves. Lastly, there are the slaves, like yourselves.”

As I listened, I wondered if it was okay to share such information. For instance, the part about the Guards mostly being composed of active-duty mercenaries…

‘Well, even if they know, what can they do about it?’

Because I’m an investigator, I’m busy recalling the characteristics and weaknesses of mercenaries (weak ties, susceptible to bribery, etc.), but for ordinary people, it’s easier to resign themselves to their fate. No matter how hard an ordinary person tries, they can’t defeat a trained mercenary. I belatedly wondered if Morer had intentionally leaked this additional information.

“The place we’re going to now is the physical examination area. There, your bodies will be examined and checked, and you will be classified into grades. After that, the formal training and education will begin.”

Morer maintained a calm and businesslike demeanor throughout. Some seemed to find slight comfort in that, but I felt repulsed. Such a normal attitude on this crazy island. One truth I’ve learned as an investigator is that people like him are usually the most deeply disturbed. Unfortunately, my theory soon proved to be true.

We met the armed personnel Morer called ‘Guards’ again at our destination. It was a huge gymnasium-like building, and the rifle-wielding Guards were loitering on the railings installed around the second-floor spectator area.

I paused while pretending not to observe them. It wasn’t just Guards on the second floor. White figures sat in the spectator seats, which looked more fitting for an opera house than a gymnasium.

People wearing harnesses or black leather clothes, adorned with flashy accessories like face chains. They were the much-rumored slaves of the island. They grinned, looking down at us. I felt an indescribable unease, as if I had stepped on a grimace with bare feet. Then, Morer, who had stopped, gave an order.

“Let’s get this over with.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, the staff moved, grabbing five random people from our group and dragging them forward.

“Uh. Uh?”

I hadn’t noticed because I was focused on the second floor. There were five rectangular structures at the front. The purpose of the objects, which looked like nothing more than giant hangers, was soon revealed.

The chosen five were spread-eagled and suspended in mid-air like frogs on a dissecting table. Their hands were tied tightly to the top of the hangers, and their feet to the bottom. And then it began.

Someone brought a hose. A powerful jet of water from the high-pressure hose was aimed at the suspended person. The forceful stream blasted their entire body.

Their stomach, arms, and legs were relatively bearable. Even their face or nipples would have been tolerable. However, the water jet was sprayed without exception on the most sensitive parts of the body as well.

“Kyaaaack!!”

“Aaaack! Aaack!”

“Please, plea… Aack!”

Clang! Clang!

Their limbs twisted. It was of little use. Their desperate struggles were nothing more than squirming. Screams pierced the ceiling of the gymnasium. The Guards were expressionless, but the slaves giggled and pointed at the convulsing people. My fingernails dug into my palms.

‘I thought they were pulling and securing them uncomfortably tight for a reason…!’

It was no illusion that the water jet aimed at the genitals was particularly persistent and long. The staff carrying it out were expressionless, like machines. Their eyes held no trace of emotion. An order was given, so they carried it out. That was the extent of their feelings.

A slaughterhouse. This is a slaughterhouse. They’re not treating these people as humans. What emotions are needed to wash and package a pig carcass hanging upside down?

“Ugh!”

Kibbus vomited where he stood. Others followed suit. The slaves on the second floor laughed louder, falling back in their seats.

Fucking hell, what’s so funny? What’s so funny about this situation?

In all likelihood, the bastards on the second floor probably went through the same process when they arrived. And yet, not only did they come to watch it in person after experiencing it, they’re enjoying it?

‘Crazy bastards…’

I was naive. It wasn’t just the staff who were crazy. This entire island was insane.