Interlude Sequence

---

Mikaela squatted next to the tidal pool, inspecting its shallow depths. Off on the shore, Mikey walked with his hands out.

"Mikaela!" he shouted. "I found something!"

Mikaela's eyes lit up. She ran over, arriving at her brother's side in an instant. "What's your guess?"

"I think it's a toaster!"

"...A toaster? Really?" Mikey was two whole years younger, so Mikaela couldn't fault him for making such a dumb prediction. "Well, I think it must be an anchor!" This was, after all, a beach.

Flashing a mischievous grin, Mikey began to dig up the sand. After a minute or so of digging, he cackled in delight and held up a muddy, rusted square. Mikaela squinted through the dust.

"What is it?" she wondered. Her pigtails, caught in a sudden breeze, flew over her shoulders and slapped into the metal box. Her hair--wet from dangling in tidal pools--wiped off some of the dust. Eyes narrowing, Mikaela snatched the box from Mikey's little hands and started dusting it off.

"Hey! Finders keepers," he cried out.

"I'm just looking at it, stupid," she retorted petulantly. "Hey, I know what it is."

"What!?"

"A lunchbox!"

"Oh." He sounded dejected. Mikaela snickered to herself; the administrative boon sure was useful.

"This is an old superhero lunchbox," she beamed. "I bet it's worth a ton!"

Not that either of them really understood the value of money, in particular now that COTD had taken over. However, using Mikey's fledgling administrator boon to dig up buried objects on the beach was an exciting way to pass the time.

Mikaela almost wished that she'd chosen to be an administrator, but the profession had sounded so...boring. Mikey had only picked it because he was familiar with the phrase, "administrator of justice." Accordingly, he assumed it involved whooping bad-guy butt.

Mikaela, on the other hand, had actually done a bit of research before picking out her first profession at the Anima. She vehemently rejected it, wondering why anyone would wield a mace or gavel when they could use a sword. Not that she'd chosen close combat; in the end, she had picked out the caretaker profession. To be honest, she found it fairly lackluster. Well, at least for now, until she finished the profession up. She figured the elite and expert boons would be way cooler than her Apprentice boon. Unfortunately, after five days of fooling around with her single boon, becoming an expert caretaker felt a million years away.

---

"I can't believe this," Rin boomed through the water. "Look at the reef."

Asuna grinned, her cheeks puffing out as she drew in water and blew out a stream of bubbles. "Land-shapers, fighting!" she exclaimed. A long, dragonleaf straw jutted more than one-hundred meters out of the water next to each woman, providing them with a source of air. Not that they needed much.

"It's beautiful, absolutely beautiful." While a pair of black goggles obscured Rin's facial expression, Asuna knew her eyes must be alight with wonder.

"There are so many fish," Asuna remarked. "Think there are sharks anywhere?" she snapped her knuckles, not that the sound carried through the water like their augmented voices.

"Not sure," Rin replied, swimming down into the reef. "These boons are amazing," she tutted as she sank lower. "My ears aren't even popping."

"There's a drop off over here," Asuna reported. "Wanna see what we find?"

"It's dangerous--" Rin stopped herself mid sentence, then turned around. Asuna placed her hands on her hips expectantly.

"Dangerous?"

Rin let out a bubbly laugh. "Right. Let's go."

---

Aamuun massaged his quasi horse's head.

'Shh, Dahlia,' he transmitted. 'You're going to rock. Today marks the beginning of a horse racing legend.'

Dalia whinnied impatiently, then snorted, tossing her braided mane. 'You're not the one who's running.'

Aamuun let his eyes rove over the other competitors, all of which were seated atop quasi horses. They all rode bareback, their improved strength, endurance, and balance eliminating the need for saddles, while their dragonleaf connections eliminated the need for reigns.

Jerboaland's racing stadium was overflowing with humans and quasies. Some came because watching the high-speed sport was entertaining, while others came to gamble.

They gambled the only thing there was: path points. Aamuun had actually made a killing in path points after a few lucky bets, and hoped to make more in winnings from this race. While most people still hadn't finished all fourteen beginner paths, the path points worked excellently on credit. Since essentially everyone was guaranteed not to die of illness, anybody under the age of 80 found that betting as-of-yet unearned path points was fair.

In all honesty, Aamuun was still surprised that exchanging path points was allowed. While he was certainly no expert with regards to the Path system, he was under the impression that path points accumulated based on progress down a certain profession's Path, much in the same way people progressed from Apprentice to Expert. In that sense, betting path points almost seemed contrary to the whole philosophy of "self-determination."

Not that Aamuun was complaining, considering the head start he'd have if he decided to cash in his points.

Delilah's muscles shifted under Aamuun's legs, the bones of her spine rubbing up against his chest. The two of them tensed as a man came out onto the track with a starting pistol.

No words exchanged between them, only general sensations of giddy anticipation and drive to win. As soon as the shot of the pistol sounded out, Delilah was thundering down the imposing fifteen-thousand-meter track, her hooves digging into and kicking up mounds of dirt to propel her and Aamuun forward. Her head bobbed in and out with each wide stride, her pace such that an inexperienced rider would have been knocked senseless by the jerking motion. Instead, Aamuun knew to lean into Delilah's thrusts, knew how to shift his body to maximize her speed.

'We're close to first,' he transmitted. Only two riders were ahead, both just to the inside of their current position as they turned right on the inside of the loop. 'One lap down, three more to go.'

'I'm taking it easy,' she transmitted back, her mental voice ragged as her heaving breath. After two more laps, foam flecked from her mouth.

'Still one ahead,' Aamuun noted worriedly.

Delilah whinnied, gritting her teeth. While the other horse just a few handspans ahead was fast, she had faith in her own ability. She picked up speed, expending the last of her strength on the final lap of the course.

After the race finished, Aamuun patted Delilah's gold-brown neck lovingly and rubbed her black-pink nose. "We won five path points," he noted out loud.

Delilah kept her eyes on the ground as she walked off to their living quarters, expression downcast.

"Silver isn't bad," he said. She just snorted in return and attempted to shake out her braids. Aamuun just sighed and undid the elastics holding the braids in place. After a minute of riding, Aamuun rubbed Delilah's flank, then hopped off.

"Treat yourself," he called out as Delilah trotted away. She snorted, this time shaking out her tail.

"So rude," he grumbled to himself as he opened to door to the dragonleaf apartment complex. "I guess she just needs some time to walk it off."

--- TW: Human trafficking, explicit sexual content/language

Esther knew that COTD meant well. Not that she cared much for intentions, anyway.

Some slug of a man groaned into her chest, sucking like an overgrown baby. His hands kneaded into her back and drew her closer to his stomach, directing her torso closer closer to his own.

"What do you want, baby?" she asked, voice intentionally sickly-sweet. She fluttered her eyes for good measure, not that the man's gaze was on them. The better she pleased, the better she'd be treated. More food, a longer shower.

"I want to fuck you like you deserve it," he growled.

"What do you want to call me?" she asked. Sounded like the guy really just wanted to screw someone else.

"Jill. Fucking cunt," he panted. Esther preferred to think that the man was describing Jill rather than herself.

"Mmm. Like a struggle, or like 'em passive?" Esther found that giving the two choices was better than leaving things open ended. She was still reeling from the time just a few days back when an Expert caretaker requested her services...only to use her vagina as his test subject.

At least he put everything back in place. Though that was probably only because he'd need to foot the medical bill to fix her up.

The man's eyes dilated. "Passive." Then, he pushed her down onto the bed. He began to take off his pants, inadvertently ripping them apart with his enhanced strength. Esther found it rather hilarious, especially since more than half of her first-time tormentors made the same rushed mistake.

The man didn't seem self-concious at all as he came forward, his manhood dangling recklessly between his legs. Esther resisted the mild urge to kick out with her leg, knowing that such an attack would land her in the Grinder for at least a few days. She practically shuddered at the thought.

Esther assumed her passive persona, whimpering as the man approached and slammed her face-first into the bed. He flipped her over, clearly intending to do things doggy-style.

"No," she whispered, voice wobbling, "please." In her experience, "client" satisfaction went up if they felt dominant. This kind of acting was an excellent method of empowering her tormentors while further dissociating her naturally headstrong self from her current...persona.

The man barked out a laugh, then slid himself into her, his cock feeling like a knife through her un-stimulated vagina. Esther moaned, first in true agony, then, within a minute, she began to moan as though in ecstasy. Not that the pain decreased by all that much, especially since the man kept thrusting violently into her.

"You know you like it, bitch," the man cooed.

'Can't you just come already?' Esther wondered dejectedly to herself. The sooner the man left, the faster she'd be free to return to her room...and the sooner she'd be able to return to being herself. The real her, the free her, not...whatever this was.

"You're so hard," she whimpered. "I don't know if I can hold on."

This, of course, only made him bang her harder. After a few minutes, the man finally came and, spent, left the room. Esther curled up on herself in the bed, sighing. In the beginning, she used to cry; now, she simply felt empty.

COTD had been all over the news, such that even she knew about it despite her enforced isolation. Not that she'd been given the opportunity to leave and get her own set of boons. No; if anything, her jailers were worse, hiring caretakers to bestow upon her, specifically, a single constitution boon. They'd called it, "protecting their merchandise."

But Esther was still more optimistic than she'd ever been before. Part of her hoped, more than anything, that COTD officials would find the human trafficking ring festering beneath their noses. Then, she'd be able to escape her drugged-up sex slavery and finally do something with her life. At this point, she'd settle for anything else.