[ WP ] Pain is discovered to be the most efficient form of energy . It is ruled illegal , but secret human pain factories have already begun . You are the owner of one of these factories .

Fifty years ago after the discovery of fluctuating suffering the boom of factories, some with willing participants and most without, nearly destroyed the energy market world-wide. In an effort to prevent the extinction of valuable electricity, and as a facade of humanity, the powerful nations of the world agreed to outlaw the farming of any forms of suf-flux. Of course, this immediately raised the price, pushed farms underground and magnified their cruelty. 
 
 What stayed the same through the prohibition was the sleaze-ball, money hungry dolts with no appreciation for their product. Nobody tried to refine their suf-flux, nobody cared about getting the purest forms, no one could be bothered to try to squeeze the last and best drops out of their cattle. And, sure as hell, nobody thought for a second about what pain is. 
 
 So, for a few legal years and now a few illegal decades most suf-flux has been average everyday paper cuts, stubbed toes, a broken bone here or there. Moronic gulag owners simply kidnap and bludgeon people for a few measly grand here and there, with little care about who they take, employ to do so, sell their watered-down trash to, or how long a cow can be milked for. I, on the other hand, have scruples. 
 
 After my sisters disappear and reappeared, scattered in a few different dumpsters around the city, I decided I was going to get into the game myself and that I was going to do it right. The look on their faces when I told them I wanted to hire them, the confusion and fear when I insisted I wanted them to volunteer to be hurt. I decided immediately I had to hire someone else to vet the cattle, someone much more persuasive, and much prettier. 
 
 Men are much more eager to sell their bodies to a woman than a woman is to sell herself to a man, but the average human female produces fifty times the amount of suf-flux in one session than any male does. You get a good couple regulars to come over every other week and read some sob-story and you'll never have to work again. You get a hundred preteen girls to listen to the most recent heart-throb bullshit pop album and you can buy yourself a god damned battleship with the cash. 
 
 At this point I could probably buy an entire continent, I've got half the fucking city coming in to one of my warehouses each month. I pay the mayors wife and mother and daughters and cousins and nieces; and I sell their broken little hearts back to him for quite the profit. He thinks he's getting a deal, which is all I need to keep him biting his tongue about why the city has had a surplus all these years. Everybody who knows tells me to expand around the world but the fucking world is coming here to sell their tears to me so I can line pockets, what the hell would I move for and stick my neck out like a fool. 
 
 I get pretty bored watching my bank accounts roll on up. I got excited with my first million, of course, then my first billion. Since then, I mean, I forget how many accounts I have and I hate having to hire a mathematician just to read my statements. You'd think some of the cattle I hire would have made it out by now but they're so damned sad the money hardly helps for a minute. Then they're back in the chair watching or reading whatever they bring to make a good buck. I'd like to think I've helped some people, but not enough. It's just depressing…I got ta go hook up, this is the good stuff coming on.
