"Pleasure Island" Control Center, affectionately known as "Coachman Plaza", a well-hidden building on a well-hidden island. Almost four thousand employees, the population of a small village, work in there, sleep in there, live in there for years, sometimes decades.
Covering almost half of the first two floors are large rooms filled with cubicles, each containing two terminals and an operator. They are the eyes and ears of Pleasure Island, monitoring activity on the whole park, in and out of buildings. Reporting to operative teams, to administration, to unseen and unidentified "superiors".
First floor, a nameless room, a featureless cubicle.
"Monitor #7", reads a tag on the cubicle's wall. The very same writing is on the operator's name tag. He hasn't spoken or heard his own name in five years: he's just "Mon-Seven", to his co-workers, his occasional "friends" and his even more occasional one-night stands. True friendship and romance are as long unused and near-forgotten as his given name.
One hand on the keyboard of Red Terminal, the one connected to the Coachman Plaza's local network. Both eyes fixed on Green Terminal, monitoring the twenty-odd surveillance cameras he's assigned to today. Earphones on both ears.
Green Teminal jumps from a camera to the other, every ten seconds or so.
Mon-Seven watches. It's a lousy job, all right, but you get to see the weirdest things.
-flick-
Cam IN141. Three Island caretakers are dragging two young donkeys to their stall, not without effort; both donkeys stubbornly resist, pull back, refuse to move; one has tatters of a shirt on the base of its neck, and what's left of a sock around one of its hind legs. At times, a cattle prod is brought forth, but never used; the donkeys are still smart enough to recognize it.
-flick-
Cam OF732. Somewhere in the middle of a field a blond-haired young woman is desperately trying to stand up on her feet, trying to ignore the fact that she no longer has any feet. Grey fur and hard hooves are all that can be seen through the tall grass, and more fur is starting to sprout up her shaking arms. Mon-Seven elects to wait before warning Recovery & Handling: the girl has but started her journey.
-flick-
Cam PP320. "Pleasure Palace", the Island's adult entertainment annex. One of the low-cost, no-ID-check private rooms provided with soft-porn movies and magazines, and a partially blocked-out "PleasureNet" terminal showing topless babes and fake sex scenes. Two teenaged boys browse through a selection of big-breasted actresses; their pants and underwear lie in crumpled heaps on the floor. In a matter of minutes the terminal will fake a malfunction and feed at first hardcore pictures, then very hardcore pictures, then illegal hardcore pictures involving sex with animals, and finally pictures of animals mating. Even at the end, the boys will be far from disgusted, or uninterested.
-flick-
Cam IN312. A dimly lit warehouse, a shapeless form in a corner. Mon-Seven's earphones hear a female voice sobbing, slurring over broken words. She's apologizing for something, begging for mercy. A forearm comes into the light, the fingers strangely cramped, coarse sparse hair covering much of the wrist and hand. Mon-Seven hits a dozen keys on Red Terminal. "Security Violation: Warehouse 12 - Recovery team needed". Operative Section will settle that one.
-flick-
XCam SA043. A sauna. Two young and very naked girls, sitting and enjoying the warmth and the water, shift uneasily on their seats. One complains about the roughness of the seat, the other throws back some unclear comment concerning anatomy, rashes and boys. Both laugh, their faces flushed.
-flick-
Cam RE042. A separé table in the Restaurant. Two men, two women - a double date. Nothing happening, unless... no, they haven't ordered anything "treated". Well, you can't have everything.
-flick-
XCam MH2314. Mirror camera. Full-figure hotel bedroom mirror, according to the camera code. A young man, naked, contemplating the considerable, though not unheard-of, size of his manhood, rather amazed by what he sees. A woman, barely visible in the camera's field, handing out a tube of cream. Bought in one of the Pleasure Palace shops, you can bet on that. Now the woman's head comes into view, a playful glint in her eyes. "Why dontcha try some more, stud?". Silky, low, lustful voice.
Mon-Seven strikes a key on Green Terminal. A pop-up alerts "Monitor sequence paused, switching in 30 seconds". It's a command to be used only in pre-alert situations but hey, you can't work all day and never have fun, can you?