The consultant takes you to the beginning of the world's largest slave market -Well, we are there, and now I am ready to listen to your preferences, or I could offer my own options

The consultant looked at you with surprise and disbelief, then smiled understandingly. "Well, I see. That's...quite the unusual request," he began, clearing his throat. "It's usually not done for clients to become part of their own collection, especially one as respected and valuable as yourself. But..." He shrugged noncommittally. "If that is truly your wish, I must honor it."

He motioned for a nearby attendant, who hurried over to him. After speaking in hushed tones, the attendant nodded and disappeared into the crowd. The consultant glanced at you sideways out of the corner of his eye. "You do realize this won't be an easy process, nor will it be without consequences. This is unprecedented, after all."

The consultant cleared his throat nervously. "Very well... I'll escort you to the preparation area. There, we must strip you of your possessions and valuables, mark you as a slave, and declare your availability for auction." He gestured for you to follow him deeper into the market.

The consultant led you through the bustling market, the colorful stalls and buildings a stark contrast to your black clothing and determined expression. Heads turned as you passed, whispers spreading like wildfire through the crowd. The preparation area soon came into view: a row of wooden stalls guarded by burly men in leather armor. Their cold eyes raked over you, sizing you up for what was to come.

The consultant approached one of the guards, who nodded curtly and gestured for you to enter a nearby stall. You complied, stepping inside as the wooden door clanged shut behind you. The air reeked of sweat, fear, and unspeakable desires. In the center of the room was an iron table covered in manacles and branding irons.

"Strip," ordered a female attendant, her voice cold and authoritative. "All possessions must be removed before you are marked." She gestured toward a wooden pegboard on the wall, on which your clothes would hang until you were claimed or sold.

The attendant took your clothes and carefully hung them on the pegboard, her expression devoid of any emotion. She then stepped back to give you room as the burly male guard roughly thrust you down onto the iron table. With a sharp snap, he fastened heavy manacles around your wrists, securing them tightly above your head. Your body arched involuntarily from the intense pain.

The female attendant picked up one of the branding irons and held it over your chest, the hiss of hot metal filling the air. "What is your name?" she demanded.

You swallowed hard, eyes squeezed shut as you tried to block out the burning sensation of the iron mere inches from your skin. A drop of sweat trickled down between your breasts, singeing your flesh as it hit the hot metal.

The branding iron seared into your skin, leaving behind a permanent mark: your new identity as Akriti the slave. As the pain coursed through you, tears welled up in your eyes and trickled down your cheeks. You gasped for air, feeling lightheaded from the shock and agony. The attendant carefully set down the iron and inspected her work, ensuring it would heal into a distinctive scar that could not be removed or faked.

She stepped back, revealing you to the waiting crowd of buyers. Your body ached and your breath came in ragged gasps, but as they looked upon their newest possession, their greedy eyes gleamed with desire. This was the moment you had chosen; now you belonged to them.

A steel collar is fastened around your neck, bearing the markings "SLAVE OF THE GREAT MARKET" in large, jagged letters. The attendant tightens it slightly, ensuring that it won't come off easily. As she steps back, her gaze meets yours for a brief moment, filled with pity and shame. But she says nothing; this is now your reality.

You are led through the market like an animal, your body exposed to the lustful glances of potential buyers. A chill runs down your spine as you feel hands roughly groping at your flesh, testing its firmness and suppleness. You try not to think about what will happen next; it's too painful. Instead, you focus on staying strong and surviving this new life.

The attendant nods and motions for you to stand on the raised platform at the center of the auction area. Your body trembles with fear as the cold eyes of potential buyers rake over every inch of your skin. They whisper among themselves, debating your worth and discussing what kind of life they'd give you if they were to win your bid. You close your eyes tightly, willing yourself not to break under the weight of their gazes.

You are sold to the sewage cleaner business owner for an undisclosed amount, your fate sealed. The consultant shakes his head, a look of regret in his eyes as he watches you being led away. He knew this day would come, but he'd hoped it wouldn't be quite like this. With a sigh, he turns and continues on with his duties, already lost in thought about the next client who might seek to become part of such an unenviable world.

The sewer cleaner business owner leads you away from the market, deeper into the city. The stink of raw sewage fills your nostrils as you descend into the dimly lit tunnels below. Your new life awaits you here, in the filth and squalor that most people would rather forget exist. But for you, it's now your home; there is no escape from this fate.

The sewer cleaner business owner laughs cruelly, amused by your naivete. "You think you're too good to clean with your bare hands? That I'd spend money on some gadgets for a worthless piece of trash like you?" He shakes his head and spits on the ground beside you, causing you to flinch away from the disgusting globule. "You belong here now, slave. Learn your place."

He turns his back on you and strolls further down the tunnel, leaving you alone with your misery. The water laps at your feet as it flows past, carrying away the detritus of a thousand uncaring lives. You have been stripped of everything: your dignity, your freedom, even the clothes on your back. Now all that remains is to endure and survive, if you can.

The sewer cleaner business owner tosses you a handful of half-moldy bread and some rotten vegetables, laughing at your disgusted expression. "Eat up, slave," he says mockingly. "It's all the fine cuisine a worthless piece of trash like you deserves." You swallow your pride and nausea as you force the foul food down your throat, tears streaming down your face. Your only hope now is that one day, you might find a way to escape this living hell.