PikaBot (pikabot) wrote,

Terrible things inside.

This is a posting of an unfinished fic. It is only being posted because someone requested that I post it a long while back, but it was unavailable until now. This is as far as was written. Well, actually, I wrote half a scene farther, but it's only half done and sucks in any case, so if I ever pick this up again it would be getting axed.

For the record, it's a One Piece AU. And yes, i do realize what an awful person I am.

As Phil Sheldon stepped off the boat onto Pleasure Island, the first thing to hit him was the smell. It was a rank, musky scent, the smell of a thousand men climaxing at once. He had been warned of this, but the strength still caught him by surprise. He brought his handkerchief up to cover his face, which filtered out some of the smell, but the stench was still pervasive. He was told that after a night or two you stopped noticing, but he had no intention of staying that long. A day at most, to get the information he needed.

The second you stepped off the dock, the reason for the stench became evident. For, you see, Pleasure Island was essentially a whorehouse on an enormous scale. All along the streets, men and women of all ages peddled their trade, some in revealing outfits, some in nothing at all. Pimps, dressed to their prime, patrolled down the street, pulling behind them naked girls on leashes.

As he walked through the square towards the castle, Phil grimaced at what he saw. On one side of the square, a pair of prostitutes began working on a customer, while beside them another man moaned loudly as he climaxed into a third whore's mouth. This was the cause of the horrible smell; the whores did their business anywhere, usually right there where they made the deal. The smell of sex was impossible to escape. The smell of sweat and seed filled the air like a vile miasma.

Phil averted his eyes from the distasteful sight, but no matter where he looked his eyes found something disgusting. On a wooden platform, two naked girls-surely no older than eight!-huddled together in fear as bids were made and their price rose higher and higher. A man was bent over a bench, hands tied behind his back, crying out louder and louder as another man sodomised him roughly. Phil Sheldon could not have told you which one was the paying customer; on Pleasure Island both were equally likely. A well-dressed pimp approached him as he walked. Phil didn't make eye contact, but the man persistently advanced, a teenage girl walking timidly a step behind him.

“Hey, my man. You want a piece of my girl here?” Phil Sheldon studiously ignored him, but he persisted, stepping in his way. “Come on man, she's an expert cock sucker. And hey, for a bit extra, you can take her cherry. What do you say?” Phil gave him a steely glare with his one good eye. At last the pimp relented, walking off with his girl to find more willing customers.

Most of what took place on Pleasure Island was illegal, but it didn't matter. The Marines were so hopelessly ineffectual that they could barely keep control of their own islands, much less those out on the edges of the Grand Line. In the history of the island there had only been one raid, and that by a tiny force, easily crushed by the Island's defenses. No marines had bothered them since.

He announced his name to the gate guard at the palace, and after consulting his list for a moment, the great gates swung open to allow him access. A guard led him into the main keep to a large room with two opposite chairs, then left him. Phil sat in the nearest, and waited for his host to arrive. The room was opulently decorated, with paintings hanging from the walls and statues sitting upon pedestals. His reporter's eye identified one of the paintings as The Great Whale of the Ocean, a famous piece that was stolen from Marine Headquarters two years ago.

“Mister Sheldon, so glad you could make it!” A voice boomed from the other side of the room, and through a door that had been hidden by the other chair stepped the man Phil Sheldon had come to this place to see. Although he felt disgust at the workers of the street, he knew that the pimps and whores were nothing but pawns. They paid someone above them, who paid someone above him, and all the money wound up in the hands of the man who stood before him now. The Sogeking.

He wore the finest of clothes, all purple and flash. A magnificent clock was draped over his shoulders, and upon his face was a golden sun-mask. In one hand was a cane, ebony wood topped by a jewel almost the size of a fist. He was the ruler of the island, and was called, in the back rooms of bars and back alleys, the Pimp among Pimps. Behind him walked a trio of girls. The youngest didn't look a day over thirteen, but the other two were old enough that Phil wasn't reminded horribly of his daughter when he looked at them.

Phil rose to shake the Sogeking's hand, then sat down once more. Sogeking sat on the other seat. “I absolutely loved your article on the Laboon incident. A real...personal take on things. I laughed, I cried, it moved me. And then when my associates on Whiskey Peak contacted me, saying you were looking for information, well...how could I not offer to help?”

“Thank you very much, Sogeking. Here's what I need.” Phil said, pushing a folder onto the table between them. Sogeking gestured at his girls, then picked up the folder and began reading. The girls slid across the space between them and began working on him, unbuttoning his shirt and pulling down his pants. Phil felt an urge to shove them away or protest, but he could not. The Sogeking was notorious for his hospitality, and also for the fate that awaited those who insulted him by refusing said hospitality.

As his girls got to work on the helpless reporter, Sogeking flipped casually through the pages contained within. “Hmm. You're looking for a lot of very rare stuff here, Mister Sheldon. This in particular,” he said, pointing to a photo of a man ablaze with lightening “is almost unheard of. But never fear, all roads of information lead to the Sogeking. I can get you what you need. Kaya, to me." he said, addressing the youngest whore, a sweet young thing with light blonde hair and sad eyes. She pulled off Phil and moved over to the Sogeking, unzipping his pants and revealing his prodigious manhood. "All that needs to be discussed now is the price."

Phil had been dreading this part. "I'm just a journalist, sir, I don't have very much money-" the Sogeking cut him off with a wave of his hand.

"I have no need of gold or riches. Look around you, sir! I have all the money I could possibly want. Every pimp on the island pays me his due, and that all adds up. No, I was hoping for something a bit more...personal. Tell me," he said leaning close, and although Phil could not see his face behind the mask he got the distinct impression that the man was grinning, "do you have any daughters?"

* * *

Guilt wracked Phil Sheldon as his ship pulled into Navarone. Many men have sold their daughters to slavery for less, he reminded himself, and far younger than her, but still his mind kept going back to returning home and having to take poor Jenny, who was still not quite a woman grown, aside and explain to her what she had to do. For the first time he prayed that she had ignored his warnings and decrees; he did not want her first time to with a man like the Sogeking.

But he had been left with little choice. He was well-regarded within the journalism industry, but good regards did not pay the bills, and God knew that his photos and articles didn't pull in near enough. The market just wasn't there. Life was hell enough around people without reading about it in the papers. He had been scraping by, just him and his wife and Jenny, who had grown up into a loud teenage girl, but now his wife was pregnant again and there just wasn't going to be enough. This book was his only chance of making enough money to keep them alive.

Navarone was a prison island in the Grand Line. Officially, it was a top-of-the-line marine installation. Completely impregnable from assault, and completely proof against escapees, or so the official documentation read. It also said that it was patrolled by a veritable flotilla of warships. And all this may have been so at some point. In reality, though, the walls were crumbling and nearly half the cannons were out of commission. Everything about it screamed 'run-down', and it was sparsely manned. Its 'flotilla' was just a few beaten-up old models with a whole lot of two-man sailboats to keep the official numbers up. He had chosen it as his first destination because it contained several individuals he wanted to meet.

He held his breath as the Marine at the dock checked his papers, but the Sogeking's information network proved trustworthy. He waved Phil through.

He was met at the gate by the Base Commander, a stocky fellow with short red hair and, oddly enough, a dark brown mustache.

"Inspector Shepard! So glad to have you with us. I was very surprised to learn that our inspection had been pushed forward, but Navarone Prison Facility is ready and waiting for your observation."

Phil did his best to stand up straight and appear military. Not that it mattered; with the right paperwork you could stroll in here and remove any prisoner and no marine would stop you or ask questions.

Not that he wanted to remove any of the prisoners from this facility. Oh, god no. The only way he was getting face to face with any of these prisoners was with a row of iron bars between them.

"Good day, Commander Jonathon. I am eager to begin my inspection of the Cell Blocks."

"But of course!" Jonathon said, turning and motioning for Phil to follow. Jonathon led him deep into the base, and he lit a torch so they could see.

"The prisoners are kept in total darkness at all times. The guards make regular patrols; this is the only light any of them ever see during their internment here. Food is brought three times daily, and consists of whatever our soldiers did not eat at their meals. Ah, here we are," he said, stopping beside a door set into the wall on the right. He removed a large keychain from his belt and began flipping through it. "As you are no doubt aware, Navarone only hosts prisoners who demonstrate extraordinary powers that makes them difficult for a regular prison to hold. All the cell bars are laced with Seastone, which we've discovered saps their power. Unfortunately, this particular prisoner's powers make her especially difficult to hold with those methods, and patrolling her cell became all but impossible. So, we came up with a solution."

Jonathon pushed the door open, and held the torch up so that Phil could see. Phil Sheldon recoiled slightly at the sight, but did his best not to show any revulsion.

"She could make parts of her body sprout off of any surface. She got stuck in here because she was using her powers to reach up little girls' skirts. Took a while to figure out who was doing it. But she can make them sprout anywhere she can see, so she could just reach past the Seastone cage to attack our guards. The Board decided not to expend the money to make a special set of restraints, so we lowered the river instead of raising the bridge."

As the torchlight played over the woman's face through the bars, illuminating the empty sockets that once contained her eyes. Her nose was odd, but you could tell that she'd once been pretty. But now, with the torchlight casting shadows into her empty sockets, she looked sad and haggard. Oddly enough, she had a book in her lap, which she slowly flipped throught the pages of.

"She's not actually reading that, is she?" Phil asked nervously.

"No, no, she's completely blind. She asked if she could keep it, and I could see no harm in it. As for what she does with it? I have no idea." He closed the cell door and locked it once more. He walked a few doors further down, Phil following close behind. He began searching for a key once again.

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