Marisa looked around, taking in the view. Elegant dresses, the finest suits, fine, jewelry, all could be seen around her. Outside was a view of the coast, a cliffside looking down upon where the Atlantic met the Indian ocean. The teen latina was a bit nervous, but one always was while in another country, and Dracon was the strangest country around. She stood behind her mother while she spoke. “So I am glad to be of service to your company, as we work to better facilitate your supply chain.” She said to a middle aged woman, blonde, and man, who had dark hair with a hint of grey. They were both quite fit, though that wasn’t surprising. Most Draconian citizens took pride in being fit.

But that wasn’t what was strangest. “Oh thank you Julie.” The older blonde woman said with a smile. “Your country’s restrictions make it a pain to do business much too often for our side supply.” She said with a smile. “Takes away from time that we could use training slaves on the blackmarket.” Marisa shivered at that. Dracon was famous, no, infamous, for being the last nation on earth with slavery. Dracon claimed it was vital to their culture and their economy. Besides, their slavery had moved beyond any hint of being based in racism; the fact that most Draconian citizens were of british and dutch descent was of course ignored. As they claimed, truthfully, anyone could become a Dracon citizen, and they had slaves of all races.

Still, with it being legal, Marisa couldn’t help but find the fact that they still had a blackmarket slave trade repugnant. For years it flourished, bringing in kidnapped citizens, usually women, of other nations into Dracon. Sold into slavery with little hope of rescue. Recent talks between the Archon of Dracon and the US President had led to an agreement to crackdown on the black market; undoubtedly due to those talks arising from an entire all-girls academy going missing with the only hint of leads pointing back to the most daring Dracon slave raid imaginable. From what Marisa could tell, it had perturbed some of the rich Draconian citizens here.

Not that they acted like it, only from their words. Of course they had to look either haughty or stoic with so many slave girls walking around. Collard, arms and ankles shackled, most around Marisa’s age though that could vary by a couple of years. All beautiful, a pretty blonde, a dark skinned woman with curly hair, a few arab girls, a southeast asian girl. Small ballgags in their mouths as they carried trays of champagne and wine while dressed in high heels and stockings. It turned Marisa’s stomach. She knew of Dracon’s repugnant institution, but when her mother offered to take her on this work vacation in the summer before her last year of high school she thought they would see the famous landscape of Dracon rarely visited by outsiders. Not making small talk with people who were happy to be slavers.