I woke up that morning like it was any other morning. Brushed my teeth. Brushed my hair before taking an extra-long shower, like I do when I have a late shift at the clinic. Then I threw on a pair of jeans and a loose fitting t-shirt before heading out for the day. I wouldn’t say I was going to work. I don’t really work. I’m an organizer. I organize group meetings. Mostly groups of sex addicts or bdsm enthusiasts. Lately I’d been working for this new group calling themselves “The Children of the Fallen.” I didn’t ask what kind of group they were. All I knew was they needed a dark, secluded “dungeon” for their meetings.

I couldn’t really tell exactly what type of group they were by the items they were asking me to set up in their “dungeon.” They were either a bdsm “household” (a large group of people into bdsm that did not openly accept new members) or they were a cult…which I try to avoid that at all costs because the last cult I dealt with tried to get me to join in on their orgy to summon their “dark master” or whatever. Despite the fact that I couldn’t tell what they were, I was happy that they hired me. They were paying me triple my normal fee per day for moving all of their shit into the dungeon I had procured for them.

The room was basically an old bomb shelter, 2 stories underground (because just any old basement wouldn’t do) with a small service elevator that was apparently built by the fucking Mayan out of wood and counterbalanced with boulders. Goddamn that thing was fucking slow…anyway I digress. I had to get 2 of my part-time assistances to work full time to get all of their shit through that elevator and into the shelter. Most of the stuff was small enough to get down the elevator either in the boxes they came in or fully assembled.