Wade travels far and wide in search of the best gentlemen's club.
The sky is stark; a vile moon crests above static clouds. Inadequately fabricated neon signs surge to life as the clock clouted 9:00PM, echoing throughout a forlorn Sunday. Traffic divests for the evening, their thunderous roars disperse into the foreboding night.
Unforgivingly, Wade advances through a decrepit sea of scavengers. Bedeviled by their panhandling, he unsheathes a razor-sharp machete, taunting them by raising it and making chopping motions. Fearing certain death, they part like the Red Sea.
One though, completely derisive, stands in front of Wade, arms crossed, legs parted. His face is scarred, hair rank and receding. He confidently blocks Wade's progression. He is slightly larger, but is poorly fortified. Wade calculates a dozen kill zones before confronting the man.
"Stop right there," the larger man contests. Wade, absolutely volatile at this point, wastes no time and strikes the man dead, opening up his chest like an earthquake, with one fierce slash. Looking down at the dead man, Wade wipes his blade clean and then steps over the corpse.
Ahead of him, in bright orange neon, radiates a sign that reads: Haven, a low-key strip club. The neon pulsates erratically in the dark abyss. Wades seven hour escapade through, Merovingar, has come to a seemingly disappointing end. The advertisement he read showed a little more life and extravagance.
The familiar sound of hard style music resonates from within the strip-clubs relatively inferior structure. Wades foot begins a subtle tap. He glances to his right, then left and monotonously inches his way towards the front door. A black man in his mid-thirties, heavily armored, bears the logo of VIKINGR, an eminent freedom force, stands outside.
The black man steps forward and raises his hand, "stop" he tells Wade. Wade stops. "What is your business here?"
Wade inspects the armor, its craftsmanship is exceptional; air vents are cleverly placed, the material is a first-rate malleable alloy, abundantly placed around the chest, back and neck.
"Nice armor," says Wade. "I'm here to see some tits. I came from Aphrodite."
The black man laughs and steps aside, "go' on in. Athena is about to start her show."
Wade strides on by, "Athena," he says to himself.
Inside, it's comfortably quaint. A miasma of beer, smoke and pussy lingers in air. Bright fluorescent lights line the walls; blues and reds. The deeper Wade proceeds, the danker it gets. Above, large cooling chambers with rudimentary blades spin slowly, emanating a chilly exhaust.
"Complimentary air-conditioning," Wade says to himself, while looking for a seat. He realizes there is limited seating and the only decent seat is next to an obese man, who obviously reeks of human waste. Aversion immediately sets in. He decides to stand for the moment.
Rather exquisite women pass by him every few minutes, often starting negligible conversations; after all he was married and was here just to look. Eventually, these picturesque women begin to take a toll on Wade's faithfulness.
"Are you from around here," says one attractive blonde who is in nothing but a black slip of Velcro which is compressed between her seductive rumps.
"As a matter of fact, no, I'm not. I'm from Persephone," says Wade, taking a step back from the obtrusive female. "I'm here on business."
The woman's hair oscillates every few minutes; its scent infects Wade's moral integrity, generating adulterous thoughts.
"Wow, Persephone, huh? I've always wanted to go there," she says, indirectly caressing Wades arm. "But I never got the chance."
Wade, feeling noticeably unnerving, retracts his arm, "look, I'm married and I'm not engrossed in your attempts to seductively procure my hard earned cash. You are fucking unbelievably gorgeous, but I'm a faithful man."
The woman prominently storms off, cursing profusely. Everyone in the room begins to scrutinize him. Security guards come scurrying over to examine the problem. "Oh shit," Wade says to himself, leaning back against the wall. "Here we go."
The first guard, rather unattractive and portly, pretentiously gets in Wades face. "What seems to be the problem here, scumbag?" he asks with a laughable tone. The second guard moves in adjacent to the first guard.
Wade smiles and says, "Just a minor misunderstanding fellas. I was merely asking the pretty lady to leave me alone because I felt uncomfortable with her advancements towards me. That's it."
"Bullshit," says the portly guard, grabbing Wades arm, "let's go fucker, you're out of here."
Wades killer instinct kicks in and he shatters the guards' spine with a single blow to its core. The second guard throws a sluggish punch, missing completely. Wade counters and dislocates the man's jaw with a quick punch.
The debauched crowd stares in reverence. Wade, out of vexation, kicks a patron off a chair, spins it towards the defeated guards and then takes a seat. He rests his head on his hand.
"Now why did you guys have to resort to this? I correspondingly explained the situation, but I guess your egos got the best of you. I'm truly sorry for this. However, if you ever make an effort to touch me again, I will execute the both of you in front of your families, fuck your wives and rape your mothers. Have a good night."
Wade then gets up and exits the building.
The heavily armored door man standing outside, respectively allows Wade to leave. He never did like those guards. Sirens begin to resound in the distance. Fearing potential lethal conflict, Wade disappears into the grievous night.