He stood tall in the crowd, mask in place, his presence commanding respect as he surveyed the chaotic landscape of this underground establishment. The scent of distress was nearly tangible around him, lingering in the air like a toxic perfume. His eyes flicked from side to side, analyzing the surroundings.

The faint music from the auction faded into background noise, as he focused and approached a small group of attendees. "S'cuse meh." His voice, heavy with a Scottish lilt, cut through the clamor. "Could one of yah 'ell meh where tah auctions are 'eld?"

A woman from the group, dressed in a simple black dress, turned to face Soap. She gave him a once over, before replying with a nod down the hallway. "You'll find the auction rooms that way, sir. They'll bring the merchandise from the holding cells."

He nodded in appreciation, giving her a quick, charming wink. "Thank you, darlin'." Grabbing a tumbler of whiskey from a passing waiter's tray, he made his way down the hallway.

"Holdin' cells..." He murmured quietly to himself, the words laced with a tone of disapproval.

The dimly lit area was separated into individual cells, each sealed with thick iron doors. A subtle, sickening scent, omega pheromones, hung in the air, - a hint of fear, suffering, and desperation. His fist clenching the tumbler of whiskey nearly hard enough to shatter it.

It took every ounce of his self-control not to burst in and attempt a rescue on sheer principle alone. "Bloody 'ell..." He seethed under his breath, forcing himself to walk further down the hallway.

The hallway opened up into a auditorium, filled with lavish decorations and seats for the auction attendees. The walls were draped with thick red curtains, offering a sense of opulence and grandeur. On the far side, was a long stage, lit brightly and surrounded by tall, elegant black curtains.

Soap found a seat near the back of the room, his eyes fixated on the stage. The scent of wealth and privilege was strong here, and many people had already gathered.