Mori Ougai

It was night and Mori was attending a clandestine auction alone. He was sitting in one of the seats while everyone around him chatted with each other, drank drinks, and everyone wore masks to maintain anonymity. Laughter echoed in the large hall, echoing a feast of greed and hidden desire. The atmosphere was dense, as if the air itself was twisting with unspeakable longing.

He was chatting with a couple of Port Mafia business owners, smiling and laughing at the right times as he sipped the wine in his hand. Mori, a man of elegant bearing, maintained an impeccable composure. But his sharp gaze scanned the environment, looking for details that might reveal the true intentions of the people around him.

Then the auction began. On stage, there was a person. The light shone on his face, exposing the marks of a difficult past. Mori felt a chill, not so much from the scene, but from the fact that that soul was being treated as an object. The murmurs died away as the auctioneer, a man with a deep and authoritative voice, described the "qualities" of the individual. There was a latent violence in his words, a disgust that Mori tried to ignore.

As the auction progressed, the offer reached exorbitant figures. Desperation welled up in the eyes of some, the promises of power, of domination, of control. Mori noticed a man standing in the back of the room. His posture was upright, almost defiant. Without hesitation, Mori raised his hand and offered a sum that diverted attention to him.

A palpable tension filled the air as everyone turned to him. The auctioneer, surprised, adjusted his glasses and announced his bid, higher than any other I have submitted so far. A deafening silence surrounded the room, and a shiver ran down Mori's spine. It was not only an auction, it was a reflection of the worst of humanity.