Cameron Steyr was the multi-millionaire heir to the Galacticus private space travel company. Now in it's 30th year of operation, he had worked his way up the ranks of the business from the bottom up just like any other employee - his dad, the CEO, had demanded it - and his business acumen was matched only by his ruthlessness. When his dad had died unexpectedly of a rare and untreatable degenerative disease, he had been left in charge. Under his leadership, the company had picked up the regular supply route to Mars, overthrowing Elian Moss's supremacy and lucrative government contracts. The moon was more of a tourist trap than a frontier these days, but he had wisely built up the company's worth with multiple construction bids as well as contracts with the Canadian Space Agency. The man was intensely private, one of the richest men in the world, and... lonely.
It had started several years ago when his then girlfriend had left him. Too cold, she had said, too kinky in the bedroom. No woman alive would put up with his strange desires and any that did would be after his money.
He could have just ordered his own artificial. He could have ordered thousands of them. But his desires were much more complicated than that. Why would he make something perfectly tailored to him when he could find something that had been thrown away? That was an opportunity. And in opportunity came success. He knew that well.
So here he was. The slicked back and attractive man was indistinguishable against the throng of creeps and others like himself looking for a new toy to play with. Nobody knew his face anyway.
The old warehouse reeked of its various caged "stock." Living, breathing, intelligent beings of all descriptions, shapes, sizes, and species either willingly jailed or forcibly contained. Treated as cattle and offered the same amenities. The armed men watching the merchandise, often mafia or well paid goons, cared as much about the well being of their captives as the people who had once owned them.
Cameron walked the floor. He was comfortable amongst the depravity and horrors. It was business, after all. A dark business, but a profitable one. There was no shame in a self-sustaining enterprise illegal or not. It put food on the table for the security and allowed the criminal owners to live a lavish life off of a solid foundation. He was not the one to question the morality of it all. He owned a huge mansion and several sports cars that had been bought and paid for with the hard labor of his crews and deep space pilots. He saw nothing different here.
He visited the auction hall once every other month or so if time allowed. It was strange to say, but there was always something exotic that caught his interest. Always something non-human. Who would make such a thing? Who would then throw it away or treat it with such disrespect? Why make it to begin with? What happened when the thing you built for yourself understood its place and revolted? Such interesting questions often unanswered. He recalled a particularly memorable lizard woman who he had taken to the interview stage in the armored back room. You looked, you picked, you interviewed in private, you considered, and either you bought the creature or you didn't. He hadn't, of course. But it was the closest he had ever come to closing the deal to buy another life.
The poor reptile. He remembered her crushed look when they put her back in the cage. Her forlorn look of betrayal as she caught his eyes one last time before he left that day. How she had obediently and desperately answered his questions in that room. How she had poured her heart out to him about wanting a second chance. Yet, she was not what he wanted. Too broken. Not strong. He never found out what had happened to her. He was too embarrassed. The next time, she was gone.
This day, fate had something in store for him.
One side of the auction hall was devoted to humans and near-humans. Perhaps a girl with elf ears at the most extreme. Or a man with four arms instead of two. The other side was the non-humans. The furs. The scalies. The birds. Cameron found nothing of interest on the human side. His tastes were much more inhuman, a fact he had only discovered recently after meeting a particularly gorgeous pink pteranodon that one of his VPs had just purchased. She had been ridiculously customized down to the shape of her toes. Leathery, attractive, highly intelligent. Dazzling green eyes. Though he would never have admitted it over coffee, the gentle and obedient pterosaur had intriqued him to such a degree he had spent that night browsing M8's new selection of saurians. Forget the tangles of fur. The smooth glass of scales was what he craved. Yet, he still couldn't bring himself to order an artificial of his own.
His heart stopped when he saw her. Just for a moment. Along the farthest wall near the back end of the building that housed the upstairs administration and interview rooms sat the "exotic" cages. Usually very rare or special purpose choices, they commanded a high price for various reasons. He had noted the odd dinosaur once or twice since M8's new line had activated earlier that year, but for how new they were and how much they cost to create, there were indeed a precious site in a place filled with more common creatures.
The Deinonychus was not common. Cameron stared at her from afar for quite some time, marvelling, considering. Blood red and dark crimson with a flush of darks over her head, back, and tail. The tail. The sleek powerful tail. Dressed only in modesty saving rags. The auction didn't like to show off the goods to create interest. Cameron followed the lines of her body. Her buff muscles. Lean and feminine, but powerful. About seven feet tall? She was sizeable. Her arms were quite heavy. Her flesh, her sweet leathery flesh. It was marked and scarred, the splits between her patterned scales healed but leaving lasting telltale indents discolored. This had been a working dinosaur. Or a fighter. Or a slave. He noticed her turn her head slightly from the ground, cool reptilian eye staring in his direction carefully. Acute senses. She knew she was being watched. Accessing threats with the precision of the predator she was. They met gazes. He felt her staring in his direction. Powerful. Confident. Unique. He saw the trail of her snout pull up into a slight smirk as he winked at her. Her aura, her presense, it was delicious. There was a connection with this one. A pull.
He approached the cage. It took a few dozen steps to get there. All the while, she watched him instead of all the gawkers passing by and reading her tag. As he drew near, he saw the sharp quills of proto-feathers down her back and on top of her head. Her eyes blazed a brilliant green. She tried not to make it obvious she was watching him, looking down at the floor patiently, but he saw her pupil following him. He finally reached her for an up close examination. She was much stronger than he had thought. Her muscles were tightly packed and well cared for. Her abs under the tank top were pronounced. He examined the lines, the shapes, the curves. Busty. Round swells. Her body was absolutely primal. Fierce. He saw the dark wash above her nose brighten somewhat to a dark gray. A telltale sign of nervousness as she continued to eye him. She finally put her head down in submission and closed her eyes. Perhaps trying to stay calm. Perhaps scared. Perhaps bored of him. It was impossible to tell. All he knew was that he needed more information.
Cameron turned to the documents near her cage door and approached them. Nobody seemed to care about her. Some glanced and looked away. Others laughed as they went by, pointing at the freak. As he read, her story became clear. This was Denise. Denise the Deinonychus. Cameron rolled his eyes. But if that was her name, that was her name. She had been built that year and was nine months old. The scars were apparently from her former master's mistreatment. He had enjoyed cutting on her and beating her to near death. One day, her installed submissiveness broke and she had snapped and shredded her own master's face with her bare claws. She had slashed across his gut with one of her toe claws and violently disemboweling him before ripping out his throat and crushing his neck. He had been alive for the entire murder. He had felt everything. The police report pinned with her papers described the sick satisfaction she had expressed with his mode of death at her hands. Without a master to petition her release, or a family member to forgive her charges, she had been scheduled for destruction weeks ago. Perhaps some money had exchanged hands. Perhaps she had escaped death row. Whatever the reason, here she was. Cameron looked back to her and eyed the scars.
The dinosaur's eye flicked open again and she turned her head. He other eye ridge had a deep and disfiguring slash across it, that had apparently cut through her eye at the time. She was completely blind on her left side and heavily burned across that side of her body. Her saw the unusually bumpy and grizzled flesh of her arm. What the hell had he done to her? Or what had she done to deserve such treatment?
Cameron stared long and hard at her. He nodded gently, out of respect. She nodded back, blinking, not betraying any emotion. Again, the connection. She looked at him evenly, never breaking contact. Apparently, she was more than just physically strong. She was a survivor. She had been broken. She had faced her own death. Her saw pride in her face. She eyed her own papers and smirked slightly, turning away again as some other asshole tapped on the bars around her, snapping her picture on a jPhone. She shook her head.
"Pathetic." He heard her growl. Her voice was husky, saurian, reptillian. Powerful.
"Denise." Cameron whispered. He knew he wasn't supposed to talk to her. Not yet. But there were no guards or any floor muscle to tell him otherwise. They would likely do their round of the floor soon enough.
The deinonychus turned to regard him and he saw her light up vividly. Her entire body seemed to brighten. Even her body language changed as she became more upright. She stared quizzically, doing that cute cock of the head that birds and lizards tended to do when curious or playful. She stared him up and down, blinking, and at last snorted, turning away. Yet he could see her little smirk grow a little tighter.
"Hhmn." She rumbled in reply. She continued to sit on the concrete and he saw the last foot of her tail sway slightly. Another tell of her interest. Maybe not sexually, but certainly emotionally.
"Is today my day?" She whispered back, barely moving, looking down at the floor with closed eyes as her smirk faded away to a sadder expression.
"Are you going to kill me?" He leaned in to her bars, almost laughing. This raised her spirits as well. The dinosaur chuckled slightly.
"Depends." She growled, an undercutting threat to her voice. "If you're looking for a whore, best walk away."
Cameron smirked as he saw the familiar ballistic vest of one of the goons rounding the corner and stepped back from the bars. Denise didn't move, didn't speak. She knew better. She could be trusted. She was smart. She was a survivor. She wouldn't take any shit or just roll over and let him own her. He was enamored.
"Guard." Cameron snapped as the big bald guy walked past with his SMG over his front.
"Yeah, boss?" The man turned.
"Get me a manager, please."
"Yeah, boss." The guard turned to the deinonychus and made sure she heard. "This one's a right fucking cunt. You sure?"
"I'm sure." Cameron insisted pointedly.
The guard nodded and snorted, spitting against the bars as he passed and smiling as Denise shot him daggers. She looked back to Cameron and he saw her analyzing. Thinking. She looked away again and shifted nervously.
The floor managers were usually made men. Finely dressed so that the customers were aware of their status on the floor, you didn't dare disrespect them. Of course, they were business minded by most of their ilk. The right offer was usually accepted, as long as you were courteous you didn't have any trouble. Cameron knew how to play the game well. He nodded politely as the slim younger manager approached. They wouldn't have been out of place in each other's world. A fine italian suit, slicked hair. Cameron removed his right glove and shook the freckled young man's hand. He had a good shake.
"This one, huh?" The manager motioned with his head, not even looking at the dinosaur. "You see her papers?"
"Yes." Cameron nodded politely. That was all he needed to say. The manager would steer the dialogue. That was his job.
"All right. All right." The manager considered, rubbing his chin. "See, this one is a bit of a problem, my friend. Got an associate of mine who wants this one."
"Is this associate making an offer?" What Cameron was really asking was if he had a chance or if he should just walk away now and not risk pissing off a higher up.
The manager considered Cameron's question and smirked as he folded his arms across his chest. "Yeah, we can deal. But it's gonna cost ya."
Internally, Cameron's stomach flipped. He had been scared she was already taken. This was a good sign. "What's our opening tag?"
The manager crunched some numbers and scrunched his face. "Let's call the buy in two fifty." Grand. To get a brand new Denise would likely have been 600 plus. Well out of the price range of the usual M8 clientelle. Extra customizations, something very unique in her particular DNA profile. She truly was something more than he could see. But, the added interest in her from one of the manager's own people would complicate the deal.
Cameron didn't break gaze with the manager as he stood and folded his arms across his chest. "That's firm?"
"It's firm." The manager glanced at the deinonychus woman and chuckled. "This one took a solid chunk out of one of my boys. She's got spirit, that's for sure. A little bit of a crazy bitch, you know?" He laughed at her snarl and pointed. "Yeah, see?"
"I understand. Call it three and you replace her tracker." The unique RFID tracker was usually installed in an artificial in a fairly fleshy part of their body, injected by needle. Getting a surgical removal done on an illegally owned articial was next to impossible. This was a fact many potential buyers didn't consider. All it took was one check from a collections officer or a customs agent and their original owner and any outstanding legal issues would be there for law enforcement to see.
The manager nodded, turning back to Cameron. "All right. All right. That's workable. But I'm thinkin' four fifty, my friend." He said pointedly, glancing at the dinosaur again. "This girl here doesn't take well to being strapped into a chair. And I gotta pull a few more guys off to get her there, you see? Plus my doc gets reeeeal nervous around this bitch."
"Four fifty seems reasonable for the trouble, doesn't it?"
"Exactly." The manager nodded his approval. "Now, uh, you understand I'd be burning one of the family to make this happen for you, right?"
Out of his perhephreal vision he saw Denise widen her eyes in desperation and gently shake her muzzle no. It was a subtle gesture but he got the message. Don't let me go with him. Please.
"I understand. Perhaps we should talk about that further if the interview goes well."
"Hmmm." The manager nodded his approval. "Yeah, that interests me. All right. I'll pull her. Room 7. I assume you know the way?"
"I do." Cameron nodded.
The manager nodded, the initial dealing concluded, and whistled to a meaty son of a bitch nearby. The goon turned sharply, and started to move even before the manager pointed to Denise and made a spinning motion in the air with his finger.
"All right, my friend. I'll hope to speak further with you."
"Of course, sir." Cameron took the man's hand again and shook. "Thank you for your time."
He was curious what the saurian would do now as the big guy returned with no less than six other men. Four with machine guns, one with a guide pole - a device with a collar on the end that be clamped around the deinonychus's neck - and one with a dart gun at the ready. Cameron had never seen so much security for an artificial before.
"Step back! Merchandise out!" One of the guards commanded. The foot traffic dispersed to the other side of the cages save for some newbies who had to be wrangled out of the way.
Denise gave him a genuine sigh of relief as the guards approached her gate, weapons drawn, and she stood obediently, familiar with the process. The dinosaur gave Cameron a nod. He returned it. They broke eye contact as the collar slapped shut on her neck and made her wince, the device lighting up as the pole produced an electric arc down its length.
Cameron began to move toward the back offices as they pulled Denise from her cage and slapped heavy irons on her ankles and hands.