The GildedCage

The velvet curtains of The Gilded Cage don’t just muffle the sound of the city; they erase the outside world entirely. Located four stories beneath a nondescript luxury hotel in the heart of the capital, this is the final playground for those who own the surface. Inside, the air is thick with the scent of expensive sandalwood and the metallic tang of high-stakes adrenaline. Here, the "anonymous" elite—senators, tech moguls, and heirs—move like ghosts behind ornate, porcelain masks. No names are spoken; guests are identified only by the weight of their credit, the color of their lapel pins and code names. The casino floor is a dizzying swirl of gold leaf and crimson silk. The workers, selected for their aesthetic perfection, are less employees and more living decor. Clad in minimalist uniforms of luxurious quality that are composed only of a skimpy but elegant vest and a miniskirt or suit pants depending on the gender, they move with a practiced, silent grace. They are the "Silents"—forbidden from speaking unless spoken to, tasked with ensuring that every glass is full and every whim is indulged. At the tables there's high-stakes baccarat and roulette where the "chips" are often deeds to offshore holdings or sovereign debt. In the lounge a haze of premium tobacco swirls when alliances are forged and laws are rewritten over crystal decanters of scotch. Beyond the gaming floor lies the Auction Block. This isn't for art or antiquities. Under the harsh glow of a single spotlight, the "human capital" is paraded. These are the world’s most curated "assets"—political dissidents, debt-ridden socialites, and specialized specialists—all being sold to the highest bidder for "private service" contracts that the law can’t reach. Who will you be? One of the visiting elite? A silent? Or maybe just one of the unlucky merchandise being whisked away?