From the 3rd to the sixth day, the feeding regime turned into systematic violence.

The girls who initially tried to agree on how to divide the food quickly gave up on verbal communication.

The language barrier and the instinct for self-preservation made any alliances impossible.

The cameras recorded how the more physically developed participants, such as Daria from Ukraine and Isabella from Brazil, began to form an unspoken hierarchy, taking positions closer to the doors of their cells in order to have an advantage at the start when the locks were opened.

Those who were weaker or slower went without food for 2 or 3 days in a row.

On the sixth day, the first death occurred, which can be classified as natural, caused by the conditions of confinement.

20-year-old Vietnamese citizen Leanne, who had not received food since her arrival and did not participate in fights for food due to her small stature and lack of physical strength, was unable to get up from her bed when the siren sounded.

Telemetry systems connected to biometric bracelets on the girl’s wrists, the existence of which only became known after the decryption of the server’s technical logs, recorded a critical drop in glucose levels and subsequent cardiac arrest.

The organizers did not intervene.

Leon’s body lay in the chamber for another 12 hours until during the next administration of the anesthetic gas used for technical maintenance.

It was removed by employees in protective suits.

For the other participants, Leen’s disappearance was a signal.

Help would not come and weakness meant death.

On the eighth day, the level of aggression reached its peak.

Hunger dulled their sense of fear and empathy.

During the 15-minute window, when the cell doors were opened to allow access to the meager supplies of water and protein mix, a conflict broke out between Daria, a Ukrainian woman, and Amamira, a 23-year-old Moroccan woman.

Names changed for the sake of the investigation.

Amamira, who managed to grab the food container first, tried to open it right in the corridor, breaking the unspoken rule of quickly running back to the cell.

Daria, a professional athlete whose cognitive functions were narrowed down to the task of survival, saw this as a threat to her existence.

The recording shows Daria delivering a short blow to the torso, knocking her opponent off her feet, and then applying a chokeold.

This was not a fight in the heat of the moment.

It was a cold, technical elimination of an obstacle.

40 seconds later, Amamira showed no signs of life.

Daria took the container and returned to her cell.

The remaining 13 participants watched what was happening without attempting to intervene.

According to the chat logs, viewers of the broadcast greeted the first murder with a surge of activity, and bets on Daaria’s victory tripled.

Amamira’s body was removed in the same manner as Leen’s.

13 people remained alive.

On the 11th day, the nature of the tests changed.

The organizer Fisizel moved on to the second phase of the experiment aimed at destroying the psyche of the survivors.

Physical hunger took a back seat to sensory torture.

An audio recording began to be broadcast through the ventilation system and speakers installed in each chamber.

It was not music or white noise, but a cyclical recording of human screams, cries, and sounds imitating breaking bones.

The sound pressure was about 90 dB, making sleep impossible.

The audio stream did not stop for a second over the next 10 days.

At the same time, the bunker operators began to manipulate the climate control system.

The temperature in the cells changed chaotically, ranging from plus 5 to + 40° C.

The sharp fluctuations caused the exhausted girls to experience thermal shock, vaso spasms, and disruption of the body’s thermmorreulation.

On the 13th day, the psyche of 21-year-old Maria from the Philippines could no longer withstand it.

Sleep deprivation combined with incessant screams from the speakers led to acute reactive psychosis.

A video recording shows the girl banging her head against the concrete wall of the cell, trying to drown out the outside noises.

She hit herself with monotonous regularity until she lost consciousness.

The traumatic brain injury led to extensive brain swelling.

No medical assistance was provided.

Death occurred 3 hours later.

The number of participants was reduced to 12.

2 days later on the 15th day of confinement, Elena from Romania dropped out of the competition.

Unlike the Filipino woman, her reaction to stress was complete catatonia.

She froze in one position, sitting on the floor and staring at a single point.

She stopped responding to the opening of doors and did not go out for water and food, even when she had the opportunity to do so.

Her body, weakened by hunger and temperature swings, shut down her consciousness as a protective mechanism.

Elena died of dehydration and heart failure on the 17th day.

Her death was quiet and unnoticed by the others until the smell of decomposition began to spread through the ventilation system, causing the other participants to knock on the door, demanding that the body be removed.

The 19th day marked the third death in this phase.

24year-old Russian Svetana, realizing the hopelessness of the situation and probably wanting to avoid being killed by others or dying from torture, decided to take her own life.

Using strips of coarse fabric which she had torn from her jumpsuit over two days and woven into a rope, she managed to make a noose.

Fastening it to the grill of a ventilation hole located under the ceiling, for which she had to dismantle a plastic box with her fingernails, she committed suicide.

Surveillance cameras recorded the entire process from start to finish, but the operators again did not intervene, allowing the event to take place.

For viewers of the show, this became a reason for discussions about weakness of spirit, and Fisel commented on it in a closed chat as natural selection.

By the end of the 20th day, 10 girls remained alive.

They were on the verge of insanity, exhausted, but those who survived had adapted to the level of cruelty, accepting it as the new norm of existence.

On the 21st day, the rules of the game changed dramatically again.

Fisel announced the start of a stage he called the choice.

The sound torture stopped and the temperature stabilized at 22°.

For the first time in 3 weeks, there was silence, which seemed deafening after the constant noise.

The organizer’s voice announced that food supplies had been temporarily increased, but the number of participants would have to be forcibly reduced.

In the center of the corridor, on the same table where food had previously appeared, a complex mechanical device with five compartments had been installed.

In each compartment lay a disposable syringe filled with a clear liquid.

Chemical analysis later conducted by Interpol experts on the residue on the walls of the discarded syringes showed that it was a concentrated solution of potassium chloride, a substance used in lethal injections that causes instant cardiac arrest.

The conditions of the stage were simple and monstrous.

Every day for 5 days, one of the girls had to be executed.

The choice of victim was left to the participants themselves.

The mechanism was as follows.

The doors were opened and the group had to collectively decide or force one of them to take the injection.

If no choice was made within 15 minutes, gas was released into all the cells and everyone died.

It was a variation on Russian roulette, but with social undertones.

On the first day of this stage, the 21st day of their confinement, panic gripped the group.

No one wanted to die, but no one wanted to be the executioner either.

However, the instinct for survival prevailed.

The girls huddled together in a group pounced on the weakest of the remaining ones, a 19-year-old girl from Muldova.

Despite her please and resistance, they pinned her down.

Daria, who had retained the most physical strength and composure, held the victim’s arms while another participant, whose name was not recorded in the reports, injected the contents of the syringe into her vein.

Death occurred within 30 seconds.

This scenario was repeated for the next 4 days.

The psychological barrier to murder was broken.

With each passing day, the victim’s resistance weakened and the executioner’s actions became more mechanical.

The group acted as a single organism, cutting off the diseased parts for the sake of the whole.

On the 22nd day, a participant from Colombia was executed.

On the 23rd day, a participant from Thailand was executed.

On the 24th and 25th days, two more girls died.

Five remained alive.

These five went through all the circles of hell.

hunger, cold, noise, witnessing suicides, and direct participation in murders.

Their human personalities were completely erased, giving way to the animal instincts of predators.

By the end of the 25th day, the bunker was a place saturated with horror and the smell of death.

Despite the working ventilation, the survivors, Daria, Ukraine, Isabella, Brazil, and representatives from Poland, Nigeria, and Venezuela were on high alert.

They understood that the end was near.

Fisizel announced that the forced selection stage was complete.

The five finalists had proven their right to live.

Now they had to prove their right to freedom in the final test.

On the night of the 26th day, the cell doors opened and did not close again.

The lights in the corridor went out, replaced by dim red emergency lighting.

In the center of the hall, instead of a table with food or syringes, lay a pile of objects, baseball bats, kitchen knives, chains, and sharpened pieces of rebar.

Preparations for the final arena began.

On the 26th day of the experiment, the timer above the airtight exit door stopped counting down the time until the meal was served and went out.

Instead, the emergency red lighting came on, flooding the corridor and opened cells with an ominous light that hid details but emphasized contours.

The five surviving participants, Daria from Ukraine, Isabella from Brazil, Agnesca from Poland, Kioma from Nigeria, and Gabriella from Venezuela, stood at the thresholds of their cells.

In the center of the corridor, 15 m away from each of them, lay a pile of objects designed to inflict lethal injuries.

two baseball bats, three kitchen knives with blades 20 cm long, a rusty chain, and a sharpened piece of rebar.

There were no rules.

Fisizel’s voice was no longer heard.

The only instruction was the situation itself.

Weapons and no food.

To survive, they had to eliminate their competitors.

The first few hours passed intense inactivity.

No one dared to rush for the weapons first, fearing an attack from behind.

Emaciated, weighing less than 45 kg each, they resembled shadows.

However, thirst that had not been quenched for a day, forced them to act.

Gabriella was the first to lose her nerve.

She rushed to the center, grabbed a knife, and tried to return to her cell.

This was the signal for the others.

A chaotic struggle for the means of destruction began.

Isabella, with her height advantage, seized a bat.

Daria, whose reaction remained professional despite her exhaustion, managed to grab the second knife and immediately retreat to the wall, taking up a defensive position.

Kioma armed herself with a chain and Agneska with rebar.

By the evening of the 26th day, the first blood of the final stage had been shed.

Gabriella huddled in the corner of her cell did not notice how Kyoma moving almost silently slipped inside.

The Nigerian used the chain as a garact.

The struggle was short and brutal.

The weakened Venezuelan was unable to unclench the links of the chain around her throat.

The video recorded her death from esphyxiation 4 minutes later.

Kioma took the knife from the dead woman.

Now she had two weapons.

four remained alive.

The 27th and 28th days turned into a war of position.

The participants barricaded themselves in their cells using mattresses which they had been given before the final, probably to regain their strength before the fight as shields.

They only came out to check if their opponents were asleep.

Sleep had become deadly dangerous.

Daria, understanding the tactics of survival, slept in 10-minute bursts, pressing her back against the corner and keeping a knife pointed at the entrance.

On the 28th day, Agnesca, whose psyche had finally collapsed, ran out into the corridor, screaming and rushed towards Isabella’s cell.

It was a kamicazi attack.

The Polish woman struck chaotically with the rebar, but the Brazilian, who had retained more physical strength, met her with a blow to the body with the bat.

The sound of breaking ribs was recorded by the microphones.

Isabella finished off her fallen opponent with several blows to the head.

The brutality of the scene prompted even some viewers in a closed chat room to write messages saying that the spectacle was becoming too dirty.

But the broadcast continued.

Three remained.

The climax came on the 30th day.

Dehydration had reached a critical level.

Daria knew that if she didn’t finish everything today, she would die of kidney failure.

She went out into the corridor.

Isabella and Kioma came out with her.

It was a silent agreement.

The final.

Chio, armed with a chain and a knife, attacked Isabella, hoping that Daria would stay out of it.

The Brazilian and the Nigerian grappled in a tangle of bodies.

Isabella suffered a deep cut to her shoulder, but managed to hit Chio in the knee with a bat, shattering the joint.

While they were killing each other, Daria waited.

It was a boxer’s calculation.

Let the opponents wear each other out.

When Isabella, breathing heavily and bleeding profusely, finally stopped hitting Kioma’s motionless body.

Daria stepped forward.

The final battle lasted only 2 minutes.

Isabella, being larger, swung her bat, but blood loss and fatigue slowed her movements.

Daria ducked under the blow using what remained of her muscle memory and delivered one precise stab with the knife to the corateed artery.

Isabella fell to her knees, clutching her throat with her hands.

And a minute later, it was all over.

Daria was left alone in the hallway, surrounded by four corpses covered in someone else’s blood, clutching a cheap kitchen knife in her hand.

She raised her head to the surveillance camera and just stared at the lens, not blinking until she lost consciousness from exhaustion.

Daria woke up after an indefinite amount of time in a completely different environment.

It was a sterile ward similar to a private clinic, a soft bed, white sheets, an IV connected to a vein, no gray walls, no screams.

A man in an expensive European suit and a medical mask covering his face sat on a chair nearby.

It was not Fisel, but his intermediary.

He spoke in clear English, calmly and politely, as if discussing a business deal rather than the aftermath of a mass murder.

The middleman informed Daria that she had won.

She was given food, restorative drugs, and clean clothes.

There was a black briefcase on the bedside table.

The man opened it.

Inside were stacks of US dollars, exactly 1 million.

Next to it was a passport with a new name, a Lithuanian citizen with Daria’s photo, but with a different surname and date of birth.

Everything had been prepared in advance.

However, the most important item in the room was not the briefcase with money, but the tablet that the man handed to the girl.

There was a video on the screen.

Daria saw a familiar entrance in Kiev.

The camera zoomed in on a firstf floor window.

An elderly woman, Daria’s mother, was sitting in the kitchen and her younger brother was doing his homework.

The video had been shot that morning.

The date and time in the corner of the screen confirmed this.

The quality of the footage suggested that the cameraman was only a few meters away.

“Congratulations on your freedom,” said the man, closing the tablet.

“The terms of your contract have been fulfilled.

The money is yours, but there is an addendum to the contract.

We know where your family lives.

We know your brother’s school.

We know your mother’s route to work.

If you say a word, write a line, or try to contact the police in any country, they will die.

Not quickly.

We will send you a video.

Daria nodded silently.

She had no strength to resist, and she knew the threat was real.

That same night, pumped full of sedatives, she was put on a private helicopter that took her to a business jet.

The plane landed at a private airfield in the suburbs of Frankfurt, Germany.

She was dropped off at the entrance to a hotel with a case of money and documents.

She was free, rich, and completely destroyed.

The next two years of Daaria’s life turned into a gray zone of existence.

She did not return to Ukraine.

She was afraid that any contact with her family might provoke the observers whom she now saw in every passer by.

Daria settled in a small German town, renting an apartment under a false passport.

The million dollars that was supposed to be her ticket to a new life was spent on cheap alcohol and heavy anti-depressants, which she bought on the black market.

She couldn’t sleep without the lights on.

She couldn’t be in small spaces.

Elevators and bathrooms triggered panic attacks.

Every night she dreamed of the faces of Isabella, Koma, and that first girl, Amamira, whom she had strangled for food.

Her PTSD developed in the worst possible way.

She became a recluse, only going out at night to the store.

Her neighbors thought she was a crazy immigrant.

No one knew that this thin, trembling woman with a dull gaze was the only survivor of a 21st century gladiatorial game.

She kept silent, convinced that the system created by Fisel was perfect and impenetrable.

But she did not know that any mechanism, even the most expensive one, has weak points, and often the human factor is one of them.

The mistake did not happen in Dubai or Germany.

It happened in Riad, Saudi Arabia.

One of the 60 spectators, a young prince from a side branch of the royal family, died of a drug overdose during a private party.

The police who arrived at the scene followed protocol and confiscated all electronic devices.

Usually, such cases were hushed up, but this time there was an officer who was not aware of the unspoken rules of elite immunity.

He handed the prince’s laptop over to the cyber crime department for a standard check.

The technician who examined the hard drive discovered a hidden folder protected by a complex biometric password.

It took a week to crack it.

When the folder was opened, the technician saw neither financial reports nor personal correspondence.

There were 30 video files numbered by day.

The Day One file began with footage of 15 girls in gray jumpsuits locked in cages.

The Day 30 file ended with Daria standing over corpses.

It was the complete archive of Project Sand Cage, which the late prince had kept as a trophy for his own viewing.

Realizing the scale of what he had seen, the technician copied the data to an external drive.

He understood that if he reported it to his superiors, he would most likely disappear.

Through an encrypted channel, he contacted his contact at Europole.

48 hours later, the data was on the desk of a special agent from the anti-trafficking department in the Hague.

Faces were visible in the video.

Names were audible.

The desert outside the tents was visible at the moment of arrival.

Geoloccation experts began analyzing the landscape based on the shadows and type of sand captured on camera when the victims were unloaded.

The wheels of the international investigation began to turn, but it was done in the strictest secrecy so as not to scare off the organizers before the exact location of the bunker was established.

It took Europole specialists and invited digital intelligence experts 3 weeks to geollocate the facility.

The key to discovering the bunker was not the IP address of the broadcast, which was reliably hidden behind a cascade of proxy servers in Panama and Singapore, but an astronomical anomaly in one of the frames of the video archive.

In a file dated November 4th, at the moment the girls were being unloaded from the jeeps, the camera captured the horizon for a split second.

Analysis of the position of the stars combined with the shadows from the dunes narrowed the search area to a 50 square km square in the southern part of the Rubalcali desert.

A comparison of satellite images from the past 3 years revealed that heavy construction equipment had periodically appeared in this uninhabited area and thermal imaging maps showed the presence of an underground heat source characteristic of industrial generators and ventilation systems.

Diplomatic negotiations between Europole and the authorities of the United Arab Emirates were conducted at the level of foreign ministries in strict secrecy.

Abu Dhabi fearing a blow to its reputation ahead of a major international economic forum agreed to a joint operation but on condition of a complete information embargo until the investigation was complete.

The assault on the facility cenamed Necropolis in operational reports took place in the early morning of February 14th 2026.

A combined team of Dubai Police special forces supported by Interpol tactical advisers landed from helicopters at the coordinates.

On the surface, there was only an inconspicuous pumping station fenced off with a net.

However, a concealed hydraulic lift leading to a depth of 12 m was discovered under the floor of the technical room.

There was no resistance when they entered the underground complex.

The staff, consisting of three Filipino technicians and two Sudin security guards, surrendered immediately.

The bunker was empty.

The cells had been cleaned with industrial chlorine-based chemicals that destroy biological traces.

However, at the far end of the corridor, behind a false wall, operatives discovered a room that was not covered by the surveillance cameras.

It was a crematorium.

A small gas oven intended for the disposal of medical waste was used to destroy the bodies of the dead.

Despite attempts by staff to hide the evidence, forensic experts extracted fragments of bone tissue and teeth from the ash that had not been completely destroyed by heat.

DNA analysis of these fragments later confirmed a match with the genetic material of 14 missing girls.

The organizer of the scheme, Fisel al- Majid, was arrested 4 hours later in his penthouse in the Dubai Marina area.

He did not resist arrest, confident in his immunity.

During the search, servers containing the accounting records of Dubai Elite Models were seized.

The financial records revealed the scale of the operation.

In 30 days of broadcasting, the total revenue from bets and viewer contributions amounted to $18 million.

However, the most valuable evidence was the list of clients, 60 names, including European hedge fund managers, Asian tech moguls, and representatives of Middle Eastern monarchies.

This list became the main problem for the investigation.

Interpol’s legal department faced unprecedented pressure.

Within a week, the evidence against the viewers began to crumble.

Files disappeared from secure servers.

Witnesses changed their testimony, and countries whose citizens appeared on the list refused extradition or questioning, citing a lack of evidence.

The trial of Fisizel al- Majid and his immediate accompllices was held behind closed doors.

The official reason for closing the trial was the threat to the national security of the UAE.

Neither journalists nor representatives of human rights organizations were allowed into the courtroom.

All information about the proceedings came through dry press releases from the Ministry of Justice.

Fisizel pleaded guilty only to organizing illegal gambling and manslaughter claiming that the girls died as a result of accidents and conflicts between themselves and that he was merely a bystander.

However, the body of evidence, including video recordings of the executions, did not allow the judges to mitigate the sentence.

Fisel received a life sentence without the right to parole.

He is being held in a solitary cell in the Alsadder maximum security prison.

The fate of the 60 spectators remained outside the scope of justice.

None of the names on the list of clients were ever officially made public.

The investigation into them was suspended with the wording due to the impossibility of establishing their identity.

Parallel to the trial, a quiet campaign was underway to settle claims with the families of the victims.

Lawyers representing an unnamed charitable foundation contacted the relatives of the victims in Ukraine, Brazil, Vietnam, Romania, and other countries.

They were offered compensation of $500,000.

The condition for receiving the money was strict, signing a non-disclosure agreement that prohibited any contact with the media, discussion of the circumstances of their daughter’s deaths, and the filing of civil lawsuits in the future.

In case of violation of the agreement, the money was to be returned with a penalty of 200%.

Given the extremely difficult financial situation of most families, all 14 contracts were signed.

The parents were given earns with ashes, in some cases with presumed ashes, as identification of the remains was difficult, and official death certificates, which listed the cause of death as industrial accident or acute heart failure.

Daria, the only survivor of the sand cage, was found by journalists 3 months after the trial ended.

The trail led to a small industrial town in Germany’s Rur region.

She lived in a basement apartment whose windows were always covered with thick blinds.

The meeting took place in complete secrecy.

Daria agreed to speak only on condition that her voice be altered and her face hidden in shadow.

The 24year-old woman looked 40.

Her hands trembled so badly that she could barely hold a glass of water.

Her neck and arms were covered in scars, marks from cuts she had inflicted on herself in an attempt to drown out her emotional pain with physical pain.

During the interview, Daria confirmed the authenticity of the video recordings found on the Saudi prince’s computer.

She spoke in short, choppy sentences, avoiding eye contact.

She said that she had not spent the money, the million dollars.

It was sitting in accounts that she was afraid to touch, considering it blood money.

She lived on welfare and part-time cleaning jobs, trying to be invisible to society.

When asked if she felt like a winner, Daria answered in the negative.

“There were no winners,” she said in a colorless voice, staring at the wall.

“Fisel is in prison, but he’s alive.

The 60 people who paid to watch us kill each other are all free.

They eat dinner in restaurants, kiss their children good night, and maybe look for a new show.

I killed four people to survive.

I remember the crunch of bones when you hit them with a bat.

I remember the smell of blood in a closed room.

I left the bunker, but I’m still there.

My cell just got a little bigger, the size of this city.

I wait every day.

I know they remember me.

and I know that one day they will come for me because I am the only piece of evidence that is still breathing.

After this article was published, Daria disappeared from her apartment.

Her current whereabouts are unknown.

Interpol officials declined to comment on the status of her witness protection program.

The bunker in the Rub Alcali desert was filled with concrete by court order to prevent the crime scene from becoming a pilgrimage site for fans of dark tourism.

The Dubai Elite Models case is formally considered closed, but rumors continue to circulate on the dark web about new closed auctions for exclusive reality shows with high stakes, indicating that the scheme created by Fisel was only a franchise of a more global death industry, the scale of which remains unknown.

A villa on the artificial island of Palm Jira in Dubai became the place where 12 women from different countries gathered for dinner after which five of them were dead and the remaining three became the wives of the man who forced them to play a game of survival.

This is not fiction or a movie script.

It happened in the summer of 2018 and the world only learned about it a year later when one of the survivors decided to break her silence.

Rashid al- Maktum was 51 years old, the owner of a chain of luxury hotels in the United Arab Emirates, a man with a fortune of about 2 billion earned in real estate and the hotel business.

His family came from an influential clan linked to the ruling dynasty of Dubai.

But Rashid himself did not hold any official government positions, preferring to remain in the shadows, managing his business through a network of front companies and proxies.

He was officially married four times in accordance with Islamic law which allows a man to have up to four wives at the same time provided that each is treated equally.

But Rasheed did not limit himself to his official wives.

For the past 8 years he had maintained a separate villa on Palm Jira Island where 12 young women from different countries lived.

It was not a public harum in the historical sense of the word.

It was a carefully concealed system where each woman had her own bedroom, a personal car, a credit card with a monthly limit of $10,000, and a contract that prohibited her from working, meeting men, or leaving the country without permission.

The women were of different nationalities.

Oxana Kovalenko, 23, from Ukraine, a former model who came to Dubai 3 years ago for a casting for an advertising campaign and stayed after meeting Rashid.

Anastasia Petrova, 26, from Russia, a dancer who was working in one of Dubai’s clubs when Rasheed’s people spotted her.

Isabella Silva, 28, from Brazil, a fitness instructor who came to work at one of Rashid’s hotels and became his mistress two months later.

Rosa Reyes, 24 years old from the Philippines, worked as a nanny for a wealthy family in Dubai until she was lured to Rashid’s house with the promise of a better life.

There were also Amina from Morocco, Elena from Romania, Valyriia from Colombia, Nenina from Thailand, Natalia from Russia, Karina from Ukraine, Leila from Lebanon, and Sophie from France.

They were all between 21 and 32 years old.

They all signed contracts in English and Arabic that bound them to complete secrecy, prohibited contact with the press or their families without permission, and forbade any romantic relationships outside the home.

Breaching the contract meant immediate deportation without compensation and possible prosecution for defamation if they tried to talk about their life with Rashid.

For most of them, it was an opportunity to escape poverty or simply live in luxury that was unavailable in their home countries.

$10,000 a month, free accommodation in a villa with a swimming pool and personal staff, cars, designer clothes, travel when Rashid allowed it.

In return, they were available to him whenever he wanted.

Rashid visited the villa several times a week, usually late in the evening, staying for a few hours, sometimes overnight.

He would choose one or two women while the others remained in their rooms.

The women communicated cautiously among themselves.

Some became friends while others treated each other as competitors.

Rashid encouraged this competition, sometimes openly comparing them, complimenting one in front of the others, and giving gifts selectively.

He enjoyed his power over them, the fact that they were financially and legally dependent on him, that their status in the country was tied to his will.

In the spring of 2018, Rashid made a decision that changed the lives of all 12 women.

He decided to take a fifth wife.

This was a problem from the point of view of Sharia law which allows only four wives at a time.

But Rasheed planned to divorce one of his existing wives, the eldest, who was 58 years old and no longer interested him physically.

The divorce was quietly finalized through a religious judge who was indebted to Rashid’s family and the procedure took less than a month.

Now Rashid had a vacancy for a fifth wife and he decided to choose her from among the 12 mistresses living in the villa.

The problem was that he couldn’t decide who to choose.

They were all young, beautiful, and obedient.

Each had her own merits.

Oxana was the youngest and most naive, easily manipulated.

Isabella was experienced and knew how to please a man.

Rosa was quiet and submissive.

the ideal image of a traditional wife.

Anastasia was passionate and temperamental which attracted Rashid.

Rashid spent several weeks trying to choose.

He met with each of them separately, spent time with them, and evaluated them.

But he couldn’t make a decision.

His character was such that he couldn’t stand uncertainty, but at the same time, he didn’t want to make a choice that might turn out to be wrong.

He was a gambler, loved to take risks in business and investments and played poker with friends for large sums of money.

And it was this trait that led to what happened next.

In early June, Rashid gathered his closest friends for a private dinner at one of his hotels.

Eight men, all from wealthy families in Dubai and other emirates, businessmen, investors, one member of the ruling family, the Amir’s cousin.

They drank expensive cognac, smoked cigars, and discussed business.

At some point, the conversation turned to women, and Rasheed mentioned his problem with choosing a fifth wife.

One of his friends, Khaled, 46, owner of a construction company, joked that Rashid should hold a contest like in ancient times when women competed for the right to become the Sultan’s wife.

Another say, 39, an investor, suggested making it a game where the winner takes all.

Rasheed listened, smiled, and drank cognac.

Then suddenly, he said it was a good idea, that he would do just that.

At first, his friends thought he was joking, but Rashid was serious.

He said he would arrange a special evening, invite all 12 mistresses, and hold a game where the winner would become his wife.

When asked what kind of game, Rasheed thought for a moment.

Then he suggested Russian roulette.

He had seen it in American films and read about similar cases where people risked their lives for money or thrills.

He liked the idea, a pure game of chance where no one could cheat, where only luck would decide who would survive.

His friends were silent at first, then began to laugh, thinking it was just another drunken fantasy.

But Rasheed continued to develop the idea.

He said it would be the perfect solution.

The women would know that the stakes were high, that victory meant wealth and status, that the risk was justified.

He suggested that every participant who agreed to play would be guaranteed a $50 million contract in the event of divorce if she became a wife.

It was a huge sum that could provide for three generations to come.

Khaled asked what would happen if someone died.

Rasheed shrugged and said it was part of the game.

The women signed the contracts knowing they were living on his terms.

If they refused to play, he would simply deport them without compensation.

The choice was theirs.

Sad said it was crazy that there could be problems with the police.

Rasheed laughed and replied that the police would not know.

Everything would take place in a private villa.

There would be no witnesses except themselves and any bodies would disappear in the desert.

The conversation continued until 3:00 in the morning.

By the end of the evening, Rashid’s friends had agreed to attend the event.

Not everyone was enthusiastic about the idea, but no one dared to refuse.

Rashid was an influential man on whom their businesses and connections depended.

Refusing would mean insulting him, and that could have consequences.

Besides, some of them were intrigued.

The idea of seeing something so extreme, so far beyond the ordinary lives of rich people, appealed to them.

Rasheed began to prepare.

He bought a revolver through his bodyguard, who had connections with gun dealers.

It was a Smith and Wesson model 629, a classic sixshot revolver, heavy and reliable.

Rashid practiced with it several times at a private shooting range, learning how to load it, spin the cylinder, and check the safety.

He also hired a doctor who agreed to attend the party for $200,000, and complete silence.

The doctor was supposed to provide assistance if anyone survived the shooting, although Rashid understood that a shot to the head at such close range was almost always fatal.

The evening was set for Saturday, June 23rd, 2018.

Rasheed invited all 12 women to dinner at the villa.

He said it was a special evening, that there would be an important announcement.

The women took it as a normal event, thinking that perhaps Rasheed would announce new gifts or a trip.

They dressed in evening gowns, did their makeup and hair.

The atmosphere was almost festive.

Dinner began at 8:00 in the evening.

A long table in the main hall of the villa was decorated with flowers and candles, and waiters brought dishes, wine, and champagne.

Rashid sat at the head of the table, smiling, joking, and being charming.

The women relaxed, talked among themselves, and laughed.

Some thought that tonight Rashid would announce which of them would become his next wife, and each hoped it would be her.

After dessert around 10:00, Rashid stood up, raised his glass, and asked for everyone’s attention.

The women fell silent and looked at him.

He began to talk about how much he appreciated each of them, how difficult it was to choose just one for the role of wife.

He said that they all deserved this status, that they were all beautiful and worthy.

The women listened, some smiling, waiting for the announcement.

Then Rasheed signaled to his guards.

Two men in black suits entered the room and blocked the doors.

The women exchanged glances and the atmosphere changed.

Someone asked what was happening.

Rasheed smiled, took a revolver out of his jacket pocket and placed it on the table.

The silence became absolute.

Rasheed explained.

He said that he couldn’t choose between them in the usual way.

That he had decided to leave it up to fate.

that today they would play a game and the winner would become his fifth wife, receive a $50 million contract in the divorce, status, wealth, everything they had dreamed of.

The women listened, not understanding.

One of them, Elellena, a Romanian, asked what kind of game it was.

Rasheed picked up the revolver, showed it to them, and said, “Russian roulette.

” The reaction was instantaneous.

Several women screamed.

One began to cry.

Others sat, unable to move in shock.

Oxana, the youngest, asked if it was a joke.

Rasheed shook his head and said it was serious.

The rules were simple.

Each woman would spin the cylinder, put the revolver to her temple, and shoot.

If she survived, she would move on to the next round.

The game would continue until there was one or more winners left.

Anastasia the Russian stood up and said she refused that it was madness that she was leaving.

Rasheed gestured to the guards who were moving toward her to stop.

He said calmly, “You can refuse, but then you will be deported tonight without money, without compensation, without recommendations.

Your contract will be cancelled and you will return home with what you came with.

” Nothing.

Anastasia stood there trembling, tears streaming down her face.

She looked at the other women, at Rashid, at the guards at the door.

She sat back down.

Rashid asked who else wanted to refuse.

Two women raised their hands.

Sophie, a French woman, and Leila, a Lebanese woman.

Both were older than the others, in their late 20s, more experienced, and understood what was happening.

Rashid nodded and told the guards to take them to a separate room where they would wait until morning and then be taken to the airport.

Both women left without looking back.

10 remained.

Rashid looked at the remaining women.

He said he respected their decision, that they had shown courage, that the winner would receive not only money and status but also his respect, that this test would show who was truly worthy of being with him.

He opened the revolver, showed that the cylinder was empty, then took out a single bullet, inserted it into one of the six chambers, closed the cylinder, and spun it.

The metallic sound of the spinning cylinder echoed in the silence of the hall.

At that moment, eight of Rashid’s friends entered the room.

They sat down in chairs along the walls, like spectators in a theater.

Each had a glass of alcohol and a cigar.

They looked at the women at the table with expressions that ranged from curiosity to obvious excitement about the upcoming spectacle.

Oxana later recalled that at that moment she realized they would not stop this.

No one would come to her aid.

This was really happening.

Rasheed placed the revolver on the table in front of Oxana.

He said, “You’re first.

” Oxana stared at the weapon, unable to move.

Her hands were shaking so badly that she couldn’t lift her glass of water.

Rasheed repeated, “Take it.

This is your chance.

” Oxana slowly reached out and took the revolver.

It was heavy and cold.

She had never held a gun before.

Rasheed explained what to do.

“Spin the cylinder to mix up the position of the bullets.

Put the barrel to her temple.

Pull the trigger.

” Oxana spun the cylinder with trembling hands, the metal clicking as it turned.

She raised the revolver to her head.

The metal was cold against her skin.

She closed her eyes and pulled the trigger.

Click.

Empty.

The cylinder spun, but there was no shot.

Oxana opened her eyes, lowered her hand, and began to sob with relief.

Rashid took the revolver and handed it to the next woman, Isabella.

A Brazilian, Isabella was calmer.

She worked in the fitness industry and was used to pressure and competition.

She took the revolver confidently, spun the cylinder, put it to her temple, and looked straight at Rashid.

She pulled the trigger.

Click.

Empty.

Isabella put the revolver on the table, leaned back in her chair, and exhaled.

Next was Rosa, a Filipina, small, fragile, with long black hair.

She prayed quietly before taking the weapon.

A Catholic, she crossed herself, whispered a prayer, spun the cylinder.

She put it to her temple.

She pulled the trigger.

Click.

Empty.

Rosa burst into tears, put down the revolver, and covered her face with her hands.

The fourth was Karina, the second Ukrainian, 25 years old, a blonde with blue eyes, a former medical student who had dropped out to live in Dubai.

She took the revolver, looked at it, studying it.

She spun the cylinder methodically.

She put it to her temple.

Everyone watched.

She pulled the trigger.

A shot rang out.

The sound was deafening in the enclosed space.

Karina’s head jerked to the side.

Blood spattered on the wall behind her, on the women sitting nearby.

Her body slumped onto a chair, then slid to the floor.

The revolver fell from her hand, landing on the table with a metallic clang.

Blood spread across the floor, a dark red puddle expanding.

Screams.

The women at the table jumped up, trying to move away, but the guards at the doors did not move.

Several women were sobbing hysterically.

Anastasia stood up and shouted at Rasheed that he was a murderer and that she would call the police.

Rasheed gestured to a guard who grabbed Anastasia, pinned her against the wall, and covered her mouth with his hand.

Rashid approached her and said quietly, “One more word and you’re next.

Not in the game.

Just a bullet in the head.

Right here, right now.

” Anastasia fell silent and nodded.

The guard let her go.

Rashid returned to the table and looked at the remaining women.

Nine now after Karina’s death.

He picked up the revolver from the floor, wiped the blood with a handkerchief, opened the cylinder, removed the spent cartridge, and inserted a new one.

He closed the cylinder and spun it.

He put it back on the table.

He said, “Let’s continue.

” The doctor who was standing in the corner of the room approached Karina’s body, checked her pulse, and shook his head.

Rasheed ordered the guards to carry the body out.

Two men lifted the dead girl and carried her out through the side door.

The blood remained on the floor, a dark stain on the light marble.

The fifth in line was Amina, a Moroccan woman, 32 years old, the oldest of those remaining.

She had two children at home in Morocco to whom she sent money every month.

She came to Dubai four years ago, worked as a maid, then met Rashid.

Amina took the revolver, her face calm.

She had lived a difficult life, seen death before, lost her husband in a car accident when she was 23.

She spun the cylinder, put it to her temple without closing her eyes.

She pulled the trigger.

There was a shot.

The second death in 5 minutes.

Amina fell forward, face down on the table, blood flowing from the wound on her temple, flooding the plates with the remains of dessert.

Her hand twitched for a few seconds, then froze.

The women at the table screamed again, but more quietly in shock, unable to fully comprehend what was happening.

Oxana sat with her head in her hands, rocking back and forth.

Isabella stared into space, her face pale, her lips moving in silent prayer.

Rasheed again gave the order to remove the body.

The guards complied.

The doctor didn’t even approach this time.

It was obvious that Amina was dead.

Rasheed reloaded the revolver, repeating the ritual.

One bullet, the spinning of the cylinder, the metallic sound that now sounded like a death sentence.

The sixth was Elellanena, a Romanian woman, 27 years old.

She was a hairdresser in Bucharest and had come to Dubai on a tourist visa.

She met Rasheed at his hotel where she was doing the hair of one of his official wives.

Elena was practical, rational, and always planned ahead.

She took the revolver, looked at Rasheed, and asked, “If I refuse now, will you kill me?” Rasheed replied, “No, I’ll just deport you.

” Elena nodded, put the revolver on the table, and stood up.

She said, “I refuse.

” Rasheed looked at her for a long time, then nodded to the guard.

Elena was led out of the room.

Eight women remained.

Rasheed handed the revolver to the next one.

Valyria, a 26-year-old Colombian, was a former economics student in Bogota.

She came to Dubai for an internship at a bank, met Rashid at a business dinner.

He asked her out on a date and a month later she moved into a villa.

Valyria was smart, ambitious, and dreamed of starting her own business.

$50 million could make her independent for life.

She took the revolver, spun the cylinder methodically, as if she had done it before.

She put it to her temple and looked at the ceiling.

She pulled the trigger.

There was no shot.

The cylinder stopped on an empty chamber.

Valyria exhaled and passed the gun on.

The seventh was Nenah, a 22-year-old Thai woman, the smallest and quietest of them all.

She spoke almost no English, communicating with gestures and simple phrases.

She had come to Dubai to work as a masseuse in a spa, and Rashid was one of her clients.

Nenah took the revolver with both hands.

It seemed huge in her small palms.

She spun the cylinder, closed her eyes, and put it to her temple.

She couldn’t pull the trigger for a long time.

Her finger was shaking.

Rasheed said, “Go ahead, or I’ll do it for you.

” Nah pulled the trigger.

A shot rang out.

The third death.

Nah fell from her chair, her small body hitting the floor, blood flowing from the wound, mixing with Karina’s already dried blood on the marble.

Her eyes were open, staring into nothingness.

The women at the table were no longer screaming.

They sat in a state of numbness, a state that went beyond fear.

It was something else, a shutdown of emotions as a defense mechanism of the psyche.

Seven women remained.

Rasheed continued his reloading ritual.

His friends watched in silence, no one else drinking or smoking.

The atmosphere had changed, even for them.

Some looked pale.

One left the room, and he could be heard vomiting in the hallway.

But no one stopped Rashid.

No one said it was enough.

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