Chapter 9
nine
Theta Rho Zeta’s garage isn’t a place for cars.
It’s a monument to inherited excess—an old-world carriage house the size of an airplane hangar, dressed in limestone, hung with chandeliers, and lined wall-to-wall with Maseratis, Ducatis, and vintage automobiles that haven’t been street-legal since the city still used gold coins.
At night, it’s even quieter than the main manor. No parties. No foot traffic. Just the whir of temperature control and the occasional low hum of a charger feeding something that costs more than most people’s futures. Which is why I chose it.
I’m tucked into the equipment room near the back—past the wine lockers, behind the row of monogrammed racing helmets. It smells like motor oil, metal polish, and money. No one checks it, because none of the Thetas do their own work. They don’t even pump their own gas.
My laptop’s jacked into the wall, a direct hardline feed boosted by a mobile satellite spike I mounted to the rafters last week, disguised as a roof inspector.
Signal’s clean and fast. I wouldn’t risk wireless here.
Too much interference from Theta’s “smart manor” bullshit.
Three extra monitors I set up on some boxes.
Two keyboards. One biometric pad I reprogrammed to accept my palm print. This is my makeshift war table.
And tonight? It’s Terror Tuesday.
On screen one, I’ve got Theta’s party feed. Body glitter. Fog machines. One guy in a velvet cape getting head near the fire pit. A six-person sex pretzel on the billiard table. Pretty standard.
Screen two shows the inside of one of the escape rooms. The lighting’s set to flicker red, making everything look far too sinister and real.
The Sigma sisters are in their costumes—latex Catwoman outfits, tight as hell, the pleather squeaking with every movement.
They’re all business, no play, even though this is supposed to be entertainment.
At least that’s the story that parents paying the tuition hear.
The sisters’ eyes glint with the thrill of the challenge to earn their points, but one of them is visibly trying to hide her smirk as she grips a clue with shaking hands.
A voice booms overhead: “You have fifteen minutes to escape this room, or face the consequences.”
As the group moves in unison, solving riddles and unlocking traps, one of the Thetas, dressed as a psycho killer—with an axe, no less—watches them from the corner of the room, grinning wide and leaning into the role.
A door creaks open to reveal a red-splattered mannequin in a wedding dress, its limbs twisted in ways that aren’t human. The Sigmas scream in mock horror, but they quickly regain focus. They’ve played these games before.
Wielding an actual chainsaw, a guy wearing a goaltender’s mask steps forward—an obvious homage to classic slasher films—and revs it up just as a sister spots the next clue.
One of the girls slips in a pool of fake blood on the floor but is pulled back up by her sister. The tension between them is palpable. “Stay focused. You’re wasting time.”
The second door clicks open. They’ve solved the final puzzle. With a victory cheer, they rush past the fake body hanging in the corner of the room, their laughter echoing down the hallway as they’re ushered to the next stage by another masked Theta.
Screen three: the entrance to the basement stairs. That’s the one I’m watching most closely.
Rules are simple: If you fail to complete your escape room, you go down there. To Theta’s dungeon. Where the lights flicker, the air is thick, and regret is all you’ll taste.
And people think I’m the monster.
One of the Thetas with russet hair and a ruddy face leads a lost group of Betas down the stone steps through the dimly lit cavernous hall. My camera is hidden by one of the old wooden beams, but I quickly shift the view to the main event. The dungeon.
Five Betas enter, and I’ve got a clear picture as they shuffle into the room, their feet dragging like they already know what’s coming. They’re jittery, almost sick with anticipation. And they should be. Theta doesn’t play games like anyone else.
They’ve failed to escape, so one by one, they’ll be punished.
The first Beta is shoved into the dungeon with a push to his mid-back as the rest line up behind him in the doorway. Ruddy Face snaps his fingers and points to the empty stone wall. “Line up there. You, you’re up first.”
Their eyes wildly scan the low ceilings, trying to find a way out. But there is no way out. The door shuts with finality, the sound of the lock sliding home sharp in the otherwise still air.
I lean closer to the monitor, narrowing my eyes.
Cuntlyn, the red-headed, toothless creature, is already waiting, strapped down to the breeding bench. She’s on her stomach, wrists and ankles bound by thick leather restraints, every orifice she has held completely open.
There’s no music, no chatter, just the sickening sound of her ragged breaths panting through the gag holding her lips apart. The russet-haired Theta circles her body like a vulture.
With a sharp snap, he whips her bare skin, leaving a fresh red welt across the marks of those before him. It cuts through the silence with such force that the first Beta jerks, his eyes wide. But no one speaks. Even Cuntlyn doesn’t make a hint of a sound. They all know the game.
“What’s your name, kid?” the Theta demands of the trembling idiot in front of him.
“Nolan.”
“Great. Nolan. Use one of her holes. You get first pick.”
He eyes Cuntlyn with some scrutiny. “I-Is she clean?”
The crop lands across the Beta’s chest as he wails and covers himself with his arms.
“Use a hole and two of you pick another.”
Nolan doesn’t hesitate any longer and moves toward her mouth.
One of the brothers shrugs and shoves off the wall, then joins at the rear while a third breathes a heavy sigh before stepping in.
After situating themselves as much as they can, Nolan fits his limp dick in her gaping mouth.
One unzips and thrusts his between her buns to get himself hard before slipping into her ass.
The third doesn’t have much room to maneuver and stands idly by, but after getting a sharp look from the Theta, unzips and strokes himself.
“Ugh. I think we gotta take turns,” the guy in her back hole says. “Fuck! It’s, like…wet already.” He makes a gagging sound and backs up, realizing what must already have been in there. Some other brother’s cum.
The third man takes his place while hanging his head in shame. “Shit… It’s… I can’t…”
Theta doesn’t hesitate and cracks his crop against the Beta’s bare ass. This is enough to get his hips pumping hard. Nolan works himself into a frenzy, gripping her hair and shoving inside with rapidity. The one in her ass joins, trying to finish.
“If you’re just going to stand there, finish on her back,” Theta instructs the guy with his pants around his ankles. He nods, as if relieved, then stands at her side to get off.
He looks at Cuntlyn’s body, her skin pale and slick with sweat. She’s still breathing—barely. Sides of her lips are cracked, her eyes glassy, but she’s aware. And the only noises she makes are minor grunts as the Beta pillages her gaping asshole.
“All of you pull out and finish on her back. We don’t want you to damage our property.”
Nolan is first to strike, then the others join, shooting reams of cum into the divot of her spine. Some lands in her ass crack. The three look relieved, as if they made it through the trials, but Theta seems to have other plans.
He straightens to his full height, crop smacking his palm, and nods toward the two by the wall. “Stand here, then kneel.”
One of the brothers—blond, too tall, and trembling—steps forward. His legs almost give out beneath him, but he forces himself to kneel. He has to.
“Lick her,” the Theta says smoothly, but there’s no mistaking the command in his tone.
At first, the Beta doesn’t move. He’s frozen. His mind is somewhere far away. But then a second Theta slithers out from the shadows, dressed like a butcher, and grabs the blond’s hair, shoving his face onto the woman’s back.
The Beta gasps and resists, but the Thetas’s grip tightens, dragging him toward Cuntlyn and the cream covering her. It’s smeared all over his face, his cheeks, his nose... He has to do it to clean the remains of whatever the others left on her. To prove his submission.
“All of you down now. Join your brother for the feast.”
The sharp snap of a cane against Cuntlyn’s ass acts as a warning if they don’t comply. And five brothers kneel around her, licking up who knows whose cum from however long ago it was deposited.
“Yeah, son. Get in her asshole there and scoop it out. You wanted it clean, didn’t you?” The Theta shoves one of their heads between her ass cheeks, and he gags, then shoves back.
“Fuck you! I ain’t doing that!”
“Well…we’ll just have to find something else, then.” Theta strolls over toward a cabinet and pulls something shiny from it. When he returns, the butcher forces the rebel to his knees. “Aren’t you Beta’s chapter advisor?”
The guy’s lips form a solid line, but it’s clear the answer is affirmative.
“You should have led your team to victory, then, senior. Too bad. Open wide.”
Beta’s advisor shakes his head rapidly, holding his mouth closed. But the Butcher weasels a gloved finger inside, then holds his jaw until he’s waiting like a vessel to hold the wine of defeat.
Ruddy turns up the slick skin in his hands and pours a filled condom directly into his open mouth until the guy gags, then vomits onto the stones in front of him. He heaves a guttural sob, his shoulders shaking violently as his brothers watch him with worried expressions.
My eyes dry out as I study the scene, unblinking. I’m not shocked. I’ve seen this same show for the last couple of years. Never had to go down there… Except once with Apollo, but that was for an exclusive mission.