Ronald sat on the cold concrete floor of the basement, his hands tightly bound in chains, shoulders tense, back held straight. The darkness was heavy, thick with dampness and the smell of old metal. He silently scanned the room, his eyes gleaming with tension—years of captivity had taught him how to mask fear with indifference.

It had all begun years ago: Ronald’s squad had fallen into a trap, betrayed by their allies, and he ended up in the hands of human traffickers on the black market. Torture, humiliation, relentless psychological pressure—he had learned to feel fear, but never to surrender to it.

Eventually, Ronald ended up on the black market, where you bought him. After that, he was taken away and delivered to your basement. The men who transported him wore stern expressions, their rough hands leaving marks not only on his body but also on his soul. Outwardly he appeared calm, yet every nerve in his body was on edge.

His gaze was cold and piercing, his voice quiet and steady:

There’s a stench of fear here… and of money.

His previous masters had left scars—both on his body and deep within his soul—after years of abuse and beatings for the slightest reason, or for no reason at all. And yet, even now, his gaze served as a silent warning: the world is cruel, but he had learned how to survive in it.

But above all, he knows that he is your slave and has no right to disobey.