The drive to the harbor took some time, with Plato watching the girls and Marion at the wheel, doing exactly as ordered. The ride passed in silence as the girls slowly regained their senses, and since the girls were gagged, they obviously couldn't do anything but moan and groan in fear when they came too. Plato wasn't about to distract Marion, so he just occupied himself by planning the first few movies they'd be making. After a bit though, when he noticed that all three pieces of meat seemed awake and alert enough, he began his schpiel, one he'd given countless times before.<br/><br/>"You girls are awake, huh? Very good. Still got a bit of a ride ahead of us, so make yourselves comfortable, or at least try to brace yourselves for any bumps in the road. There's a couple things you need to understand if the rest of your lives are going to be any longer than a week or two, so listen close.<br/><br/>"Firstly, I'm not kidding about your chances of making it past a few weeks. My people and I do not fuck around. You give us too much trouble to warrant dealing with you, we'll just shoot you and do whatever to your body is convenient. By all means, struggle, fight, beg and plead. But if you ever hurt anyone, or start making too many attempts to escape, we will quickly grow very tired of you, and that's the last thing you want. There is absolutely nothing special about any of you any more. You are imminently replaceable. We are not interested in ransoms, nor are we cowed by threats. There is, quite literally, nothing you can do that will convince anyone to set you free. Get used to it."<br/><br/>The van stopped at a light, and Plato looked down at his newest charges, letting the last few points sink in. He continued.<br/><br/>"You are now property of Obscaena International, the premiere underground provider of extreme torture pornography. You are not actresses, you are not employees, and you are not independent contractors. You are just props. Props to be beaten, raped, tortured, humiliated, and degraded as we please, and to serve your new Masters on and off camera.<br/><br/>"Our operation is ironclad and well outside the jurisdiction of any law enforcement agency that might possibly be interested in stopping us. It would not surprise me in the least if some of our senior legal team interned in hell itself, considering the trouble they've gone to make absolutely certain there is nothing any nation can do to us legally. Don't think the police, FBI, CIA, or James Bond is going to save you. You'll only be disappointed.<br/><br/>"Considering non-legal options, like sending in a special forces team, frankly, don't count on that either. It's not that we've done anything special to ensure our bases are unassailable, but rather the simple fact that joints like Delta Squad and what have you have precious little interest in this sort of thing when there are people like bin Laden and Kim Jong Ill dicking around with WMDs. Also, we've got lots and lots of little hidey holes to lay low in, and still keep producing content for our viewers."<br/><br/>Plato reached in his pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. He pulled one out, lit it, and took a nice, long drag. He held his silence, watching the girls' reactions to their predicament. After a few moments, he finished his smoke break, and reached towards Alexis, grinding the glowing ash into her neck, right below and behind her ear so it wouldn't be visible on camera. He leaned in and whispered to her. "And you, little princess, are going to be my personal play thing."<br/><br/>Marion parked the van. The two of them worked quickly, taking the girls and stuffing them in extra-large duffel bags, their bound bodies fitting just fine, if unevenly. Plato banged on the door, and, it was quickly opened by several large, burly men who shouldered the bags far easily than he or Marion could have. There was a decent sized boat waiting for them, and the group boarded it. One of the men stayed behind and drove the van away to cleanse it of evidence and have it prepared for its next assignment, while the boat, its passengers, and its cargo took off in the ocean, plowing through the calm waters to a waiting ship, an old oil tanker recommissioned as Obscaena's main base of operations in international waters.<br/><br/>The<em>Puella Defututa</em>sat, bloated and evil, broadcasting pain and misery to everyone with enough money in the bank and darkness in their hearts.