#junky underground city look better anyway

[ghostly-smiles]

The size of vault 88 is stressing me out

[naitiaclo960writings]

Day 9 - Electric

(Warnings: Graphic depiction of violence. This is a dark one)

The crowd rose up around him, howling its rage and its need for violence. In addition to the smell of blood and cigarettes, he could feel this mixture of adrenaline and excitement filling the place, plunging this old abandoned shed into an atmosphere fit to an arena. And that was one. Not that Dean gives it any importance anymore. What mattered was not what it looked like, but what was happening there.

A new flash of light blinded him while the metallic noise of the audience striking with animosity against the protective wire fence rose in a sinister music to his ears. Here, everything screamed decadence and anarchy and he loved it, to be able to blend with the mass without ever being considered as the freak that he was outside. Being a monster was common in this clandestine universe, it was even greatly encouraged if one wanted to survive it.

As adrenaline pulsed through his veins like an intoxicating electric current, Dean clenched and loosened his fists with apprehension, eager to soon feel bones cracking under his knuckles. Tonight, he was going to be what he was built for, what others made of him year after year. Tonight, he was no longer Dean Winchester, he was nothing but fury and hatred.

* * *

Dean woke up early that morning from a night full of nightmares despite his exhaustion. His eyes were red and ringed, sunk into their sockets after hours spent watching the house of this supposed rugaru. He made a face at the memory of the bitter failure of that night. What was the point of being a hunter if he could not save lives? The rugaru had time to devour his whole family before Dean could intervene, all because he had not taken some essential parameters into consideration. It was a stupid rookie mistake that cost the lives of two little girls and an innocent woman. With his chest already on fire, he had remained lying down looking at the ceiling a few hours before deciding to go out.

It was a bad idea. He didn’t give a shit.

Dean had rushed to the nearest grocery store, had taken meager provisions for form and numerous bottles of alcohol. When he got back to his room—on the ground floor, thank God—, he had barely taken off his shoes that the neck of the bottle was already on his lips. And Dean had been drinking. He had drunk, drunk, emptied a whole bottle and had stretched out himself among the sheets of his unmade bed. In a flash of lucidity, he had turned on his cell phone. Because he couldn’t help himself. Because despite the argument with his brother since the beginning of the week, he was worried.

However, he had not texted Sam, especially not. He did not want his brother to deprive himself of a small respite once again because of his stupid decisions and existential crises. Things were not really easy between them and, if he was honest with himself, they were not anymore for some time already. This was another reason why he had no right to demand any support from him: Sam was better off without him and his carcass full of anger and sadness.

He had not written to Castiel either. He had prayed even less. His best friend had enough to deal with in Heaven, with all these angelic losses and the threat of a new rebellion hovering over the cosmic balance. If another war was coming, then Castiel was more useful up there than with his own pathetic self. In any case, even if he had sent him a quick message asking him how he was doing today, he already knew the answer. Bad. Just like him. It was like a sinister condemnation that kept coming back and pounding in his skull. This mixed with a growing guilt that was now forming one with him.

Then Dean had drowned his too-full-heart in alcohol before spending a good hour in the bathroom vomiting the empty contents of his stomach. He had not eaten at lunch, being too sick — and what was the point anyway? — before feeling this growing anger in his heart again at the end of the day. His telephone remained desperately silent and that did not help despite his desire to be alone. Somewhere deep inside him, maybe he was hoping someone would send a message first to inquire about his health, but nothing.  Furiously, tired of turning between the four moldy walls of his motel room, Dean had grabbed his jacket and his car keys before going out towards the first bar.

He had found an enough ill-reputed one to accomplish what he wanted to do tonight in complete discretion. Kansas City was a big city with its dark sides and where no one would ever pay attention to him.

Diving into the noise almost drowned his thoughts. Dean had barely got off two shots before a man hit him on the shoulder. He kept a toxic smile of flowering on his lips knowing exactly that his plan had worked before turning his attention to man. The difficulty of the thing was to look lost and desperate enough to accept any proposal without inspiring too much pity. Dean barely had to pretend. Obviously, the guy turned out to be exactly what he was looking for: a recruiter for clandestine fights that were quietly organized at night in the premises behind the bar. The boss seemed to know since he said nothing more when he heard a few bits of their conversation. Dean had answered each of his questions in a neutral manner before the man finally told him to meet him at two o'clock in the morning behind the bar if he was interested, seeing "potential" in him. Perfect.

His instincts, although sore with alcohol, told him not to take the risk. But this rage… this rage that filled him a little more every moment, this anger that had come to mingle with his guilt and his despair screamed at him to go hit something. Something alive, something that can bleed and take his relentless violence. Dean was like that: he was violent, dangerous and unsavory. He knew how to destroy and that’s it. He knew how to torture and that’s it. It was surely for this reason that he had so much his place in Hell... He needed to be punished for his past mistakes.

At 1:45, Dean was on the sidewalk, facing the dark alley leading to the rendezvous point. His hands were in his pockets, his heart beating in a strangely calm way, still not drowned in vodka. Swallowing his conscience, repeating to himself that he deserved it anyway, Dean plunged into the alley. In the end, he found the meeting place quite easily.

Without him knowing why, the security guards at the entrance recognized him and, after long underground corridors, allowed him to enter what seemed to be a large abandoned shed isolated from the rest of the city center. However, the place was teeming with people, the crowd of junkies and thugs crowding around what looked like an improvised and slightly raised ring. Some whispered cheers, others insulted while two poor fellows were fighting in the square with their bare hands. Dean got closer. One of the men took a particularly violent blow which sent him to the ground. In a rule-bound sport, that was usually when the game ended. But there were no referees here, just a man shouting comments from the top of a high box, and the winner threw himself on his opponent on the ground to beat him. He did not stop until the poor fellow spit so much blood that he choked under him. With a smile of victory, the other stood up and shouted his victory while his opponent lay there half dead, being evacuated by two other men and leaving a trail of blood behind him.

The commentator then screamed into his microphone, asking for a volunteer in the crowd to come and try his luck in the ring. Dean sincerely thought that no one would be crazy enough to say yes when two other losers entered the ring and a new fight ensued. Once again, it was violent, disloyal and bloody. The more the blows resounded in the hangar, the more the crowd seemed to be in effervescence, screaming to animate the fight while the money of the gamblers was circulating from hand to hand.

Dean stayed away for the next two until the commentator announced the last fight. In the audience, a strong man with several metal teeth raised his hand in a raging cry, a smug smile on his lips. He stepped into the ring. In the hangar floated a semblance of hesitation, no opponent reaching the iron jaw. So, while Dean had been waiting all night for this very moment, he raised his hand, approached the ring under the laughter of others, and threw himself into the fray. His opponent looked at him with a mocking and evil look.

That’s how he ended up with this electric atmosphere around him as his heart sent waves of adrenaline into the rest of his body.

What did he have to lose? He came here to hit, no? So, hit or get hit… What was the difference? The only thing that could reassure him was that the opposite man seemed at least as guilty as he was. By the time he took off his jacket and his shirt, Dean was already crushing his fist into that idiot’s jaw.

Immediately, the screams and comments resumed around them, but everything was drowned in a muffled whistle when Dean took two more hits at a steady pace. His breath was taken away. Several minutes passed where the only thought that was imposed on his mind was to be in pain. In addition to needing to vent all this anger, he deserved all the bruises that were accumulating on his body. He deserved to suffer at least as much as he had made others suffer in his life. Blood rolled from his nose into his mouth and Dean spit on the ground.

When he finally seemed to begin to dominate the fight, his strong opponent, but little enduring, he felt a flash of terrible rage pierce his body. With his breath almost cut off by so much blind anger, Dean opened wide eyes filled with a terrifying thirst for blood. He was unrecognizable. The beast in him had awakened. He was no better than all the monsters he hunted, he was worse. In a moment of inattention, this violence took hold of him as effectively as at the time of Cain’s mark, a knee stroke flew into his brow arch and sent him to the ground. His opponent had risen.

Among the repeated violence that his body was undergoing, the man determined to beat him, Dean found it difficult to regain control over himself and a rumble escaped from his lips. What was going on? He became that thing that he swore he would never be again. In one last desperate rush, Dean managed to dodge another punch and rolled on himself, his chest in a vice of pain. Blinded by anger and pain, he succeeded in reversing the situation and projecting the iron jaw to the ground. In an instant, he had mounted his body and struck, struck, and struck until the face under him was nothing more than a bloody and deformed pulp. Dean screamed. Only then did the remaining hatred in his chest fade and he could breathe again, the blood flowing into his brain enough to tell him to stop.

The rest seemed blurry to him, his thoughts muddled and confused, drowned by the cheers and the cries of craze. He remembers, however, the same man who had come to recruit him in the bar coming to congratulate him at the exit, thanking him for the nice money that Dean had allowed him to win. He told him that he had it in his blood. Dean barely replied, not less agreed though.

Once back at the motel and the blood cleaned from his clothes, Dean was again alone with his thoughts. He immediately sent a message to Sam. He needed help. He needed his family to remind him that he was not just a wild animal, that he could exist beyond his rage. Currently he was just… empty. Dean already knew that his dreams would be filled with horrible nightmares tonight and he was tired of it in advance. After several minutes of internal fighting, Dean curled up on himself against a wall in his room. He did not want to sleep. What if the beast came back while he lowered his guard? He didn’t want to sleep. He was in too much pain to sleep. He needed to go back, to resist that dark part of him. Dean could never let it surface again, not like that, ever. He still felt his knuckles suffering, sending waves of pain into the rest of his hand like electric shocks.

He didn’t want to sleep…

* * * @winchester-reload This one was a bit depressing but I’m quiet happy with the general idea. Let me know what you thought about it :)

You can find the whole series on Ao3

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[osmw1]

Crowbar Nurse  Chapter 13 — Time’s Up, Game Over

An ominous combination of a whine and a roar boomed in the distance, sending shockwaves throughout the walls of the building.

“Wh-What, what is happening out there…?”

Elizabeth nervously glanced around. This underground safehouse should hold steadfast against the most terrible of attacks… but what was happening was undeniably terrifying. Moments later, the skies boomed again in the same fashion. She scrunched up terrified, so I went over to stroke her back. And while soothing her, I perked up my ears.

… An airstrike?

The city sounded like and shook as if it was being incessantly bombed.

There shouldn’t be any air raids like this in game… No, it can’t be!

My eyes widened as a frightening possibility came across me.

“… Whoa, hey! Sera! Where are you going?!”

I had no time to spare to respond to Kiryū. Instead, I rushed over to the red steel door and pulled the lever downwards with all my might. The door opened with a dull groan, revealing the metallic staircase that connected the bunker to the ground level. Loud clanks accompanied my mad dash up the steps. Upon reaching the top, I was not greeted by the usual horde of zombies, but by the lack of. The rest of the soldiers in our hellish army that were now idling seemed to have been serving violence to the living dead, leaving none to swarm me as I exited the entranceway.

As soon as I peeked above ground, I was filled completely with dread and my body was paralyzed:

—I was overwhelmed by the distinct blast of afterburners.

“… Jet fighters!”

Kiryū, who had given chase, cried out behind me. Splitting the skies were numerous fighters in the midst of showering Confi City with air-to-surface missiles. Black smoke engulfed all directions.

“It’s too dangerous out here!”

Leaving little doubt as to whether that was suggestion, Kiryū grabbed the scruff of my neck and dragged me back into the safehouse.

“… As far as I can tell, the worst-case scenario is happening,”

I looked him dead in the eyes and firmly spoke,

“I hadn’t expected this, but someone… someone other than the three of us triggered the start of the game’s ending.”

His gaze narrowed.

“I see. That’s a possibility I hadn’t even considered…”

After Kiryū clicked his tongue, Elizabeth, who lacked a complete understanding of the situation, asked for clarification.

“Erm, correct me if I’m wrong, but… doesn’t that mean some other player reached the ending for us? I would think that to be beneficial, is it not? It would save us the trouble from having to wonder what would happen after the game ends.” “Unfortunately, Elizabeth, there is a huge problem. Judging by the way Confi City is being bombed… the only thing that comes to mind is that this is the bad ending. Everybody dies.” “Wha—?! Actually?!” “… Don’t tell me that’s the ending with nukes dropping.”

Kiryū roughed up his scalp in irritation.

“I could tell you that you’re wrong, but I would be lying. Strictly speaking, they’re not exactly nuclear bombs either, but still…”

Whatever solace that fact might have brought, it did not show on my face.

“If everything goes according to the game, then this is step one of the government’s ‘Sterilization Operation’.” “Sterilization… That’s quite the name.” “I know. There’s many options for sterilization, such as autoclaving, direct flame, dry heat, ethylene oxide gas, and gamma irradiation. It’ll definitely be direct flame this time… I think.

In any case, if things go as I expect them to, the bombing runs should continue for a bit more. The end comes ‘three hours later’… Confi City will be wiped from the Earth by thermobaric missiles. That’s the ending where the protagonist fails to get help, and not a single soul remains.” “Talk about worst-case scenario…”

He responded with a sigh, but Elizabeth seemed to be taking it far worse. She was pale as a ghost and looked as if she would almost pass out. I don’t blame her; I think I would prefer to pass out too. No matter how you looked at our situation, we were in peril.

“Not just DMC, but other survival horror games also seem to give you a mere week to beat the game and it’s almost never enough time to get the good ending. I really should have anticipated this to happen. It would’ve been nice if we got the chance to take our sweet time…” “What other endings are there?”

Kiryū quizzically asked.

“I used to think that the best one is the ‘truck ending’, where the player and the other survivors nab a deuce and a half and leave Confi City behind as a lost cause.” “Hmm.” “You never really discover the truth behind the story, so it’s not technically a good ending. On the flip side though, because it results in the least casualties, I’d say it’s more positive than not. Well, at the very least, it’s a better ending than getting blanketed by thermobaric missiles…”

The mood in the room felt heavy and tense.

 “… Umm, may I make a suggestion?”

Seemingly having recovered from the shock, Elizabeth hesitantly raises her hand up.

“We should leave this game at once and travel to another, so we can get back on our feet. What do you two think?” “Right. You’ve mentioned that Sera’s phone can do that. Might not be a bad idea.”

Approving of her proposal, Kiryū reached into his pocket and handed me my phone. Again, I have no pockets in my clothes, so he was holding onto it.

“Sera, turn on your phone and launch the app for me.” “… Is it really alright? The app’s not cursed or anything, right?” “It’s fine. Last time it was on a laptop… but it should work the same though.”

I powered on my phone and launched the untitled app as per her instruction.

“You should see an option to switch games in the app.”

Elizabeth peeked over my shoulder as she tapped and swiped my phone with her slender, graceful fingers. Upon opening Untitled, the screen displayed a list of all characters and the games they’re currently in. Now Kiryū too had his curiosity piqued, hovering beside me and looking at my phone.

“… Interesting.

Sera Harvey (Core)...... Dead Man’s Conflict 3 Kiryū Sōichirō...... Dead Man’s Conflict 3 Elizabeth von Oldenburg...... Dead Man’s Conflict 3

… That’s how they do it? Anyway, if you tap on the name of the game, a dropdown list should appear… and from there, you can choose other games. Click ‘OK’ and they’ll be transported over, it seems like. Though whoever made this app probably doesn’t really know much about computers. Shit’s real sloppy.

And aside from us… there’s only one other person here in DMC3. It’s probably them who triggered the bad ending.”

Kiryū pointed at the part of the screen that said: YOU.

“Whose character is this YOU referring to? Is that you, Kiryū? Is this me?” “YOU might even be an unnamed player character in their original game. Who knows?”

There seem to be ten other people who were summoned from the real world. All of them are under their respective character’s name though.

“Seems like none of our real names are shown and instead, we’re all under the name of whichever character’s appearance we’ve taken.” “The same previously too.”

While we were talking, I tried tapping on YOU’s current game. Except, unlike how a dropdown list appeared for Kiryū, it wasn’t allowing me to choose other titles.

“… Hmm? YOU’s current game is grayed out here and I can’t select it, even though it’s working for other characters.” “Perhaps they did they not survive the bad ending?”

Kiryū’s face darkened. A drop of cold sweat rolled down my back.

“Hey, Kiryū… do you think it’s possible that, umm, YOU is actually already dead? Though it wouldn’t really make sense story-wise…” “… Nah, they should still be alive. I think. Before I met you, I watched some guy get eaten in front of me and his name isn’t even on the list. I think they made it so that dead characters don’t show up.” “I see… In that case, we need to hurry and save them…”

I couldn’t help but feel a foreboding feeling about what was to happen. Can we really save them? In this weird, unpredictable world? … I can’t say so for sure. Maybe we should hurry up and jump into a dating sim instead.

 “By the way, Sera, I am wondering if you recognized all these games.”

Elizabeth spoke as she pointed to the dropdown.

“Let’s see… Yes, I do. They’re all my favorite games that I have played to death.” “I had a feeling. The girl who was the core last time said the same…”

As I scanned through the list of games, a fleeting moment of pain was on Elizabeth’s face. … But her expression quickly changed to one of disgust.

“Wait, what is the deal with you? And you have played all of these to death, you said?” “I’m a junkie.” “… Not to mention that they are all zombie survival horrors too… It is almost miraculous that so many of us humans are still alive. The only decent world we could go to is this… dating simulation game.” “I get very excited when I kill walking rotting corpses.”

I shrugged with a sigh.

“… It doesn’t seem like Rainbow Dreams, the game Kiryū Sōichirō is from, is showing up… even though I spent so much of my time on that game.” “That is one of them so-called social network games, isn’t it? I have never seen any of those game worlds show up before. It does not matter whether it is a PC or console game, but it has to be a ‘proper game’.” “Hmmmm, I wonder why.”

Kiryū interjected with a scoff.

“Rainbow Dreams was designed so that most of the code would be located server-side instead of client-side. Assuming we’ve got a monster out there who is reverse engineering all these game worlds, there’s no way they’d easily recreate Rainbow Dreams.” “…” “…” “What?” “Oh, nothing… It’s just that you kinda seem so familiar with Rainbow Dreams, Kiryū.” “You’re wrong. I’m not. I have nothing to do with that game.” “…” “Stop looking at me like that.”

I could go on forever digging at Kiryū, so instead, I switched my attention to Elizabeth.

“We’re in a bit of a pickle, aren’t we? There’s only the one game world that would be safe… the dating sim.” “Is there a problem with that?”

Elizabeth seemed confused.

“There’s a huge problem with that! I only play these games when I hang out with my friends while laughing at everything in it. I mean, sure, I’ve blogged about it a little, but I don’t really remember the details, you know? I don’t know if I could beat it in one go.” “What…? What did you just say…?”

Exasperation and aghast were choice adjectives to describe her right now.

“Dating sims… and making a ruckus with your friends…?” “You don’t do that?” “I absolutely do not. And if you do, you are just a normie who doesn’t take dating simulations seriously enough. Listen carefully, Sera. When you play dating simulations for women, you must have no one who can so much interrupt or influence you. You need an empty, quiet place to play from your heart…”

Elizabeth spoke like that traveling salesman from that one manga series who just loves his meals. I can’t speak for the others, but for me at least, the three of us just shooting the breeze helped me to gradually calm down.

… We’ll be fine. No need to panic.

■Normies Literally meaning a “normal person”, the term “normie” has been in popular usage on the internet since the early 2010’s. Stereotypical normie activities include dressing in revealing Halloween costumes and doing anything to take the most Instagra☆mmable photos. (Though there are normies who participate as mixed-sex groups, Sera was enrolled in a predominantly female nursing program and as a result has not participated in such groups.) Contrary to popular belief, female normies participate in typical “nerdy” activities too, such as reading manga with friends and complaining that “all the boys worth anything are 2D”. They may also play female-oriented dating simulations as a uproarious group. They do not play zombie survival horrors.

contents: /ch001/ /ch002/ /ch003/ /ch004/ /ch005/ /ch006/ /ch007/ /ch008/ /ch009/ /ch010/ /ch011/ /ch012/ /ch013/ /next/

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[psicomma-s-very-secret-lab]

First night at the Asylum

This has been in my inbox (the old lab's inbox orz) for a looooong time and it's not even the oldest question LOL. I postponed my answer bc I wanted to incorporate some art here and I haven't had the chance to draw Shaun and Lo together in ages but man I feel like answering this after all this time cause their story is important even though it's been eclipsed by the story between Shaun and Ani ;__; (Girl look what a mess you've made smh)

Shaun and Loan's story is gross I'll tell you right away. If you want something cute or even remotely decent and healthy, better go on your way.

That question would actually require me to review all Asphyxia and Asphyxia Unplugged from A to Z, so I guess I'll only cover the encouter, from Loan's perspective here. Trigger warnings : violence, sex, drugs, French, and obscenely long post.

______________________________________________________________________________________________

Loan is 18 when he meets Shaun for the first time. He recently left the family home to move to the big city. After a few weeks in university he realises he has absolutely no interest in pursuing an academic career and drops his literary studies. He begins to live at night and makes a few acquaintances; Madame Charlie, a drag queen and a retired sex worker owning a pub in Camden town quickly takes Loan under her wing and the Ace of Hearts becomes Loan's rehearsal place for him and his newly formed band, Asphyxia. Loan also finds a part time job as an apprentice tattoo artist thanks to his connections ; it amuses him for a while, less boring than uni but he doesn't take it very seriously either. Loan has a brief affair in the end of the year with a guy called Adrian, the only contact he kept from university. Adrian had a brand new kind of stress reliever he would use before his finals, and he generously offered to share some with Loan one night after an okay fuck. That's when Loan takes his first bite in the poison apple. 

It was just a few puffs but the feeling heroin gave him was so amazing it got Loan coming back for more, and more and even more. His growing lust for the substance probably scared Adrian away cause the guy stopped answering Loan's calls eventually. That's when he thought it'd be a good idea to get wasted and drag his skinny ass up to the North of London in the middle of the night to get some by himself. 

He was walking down your typical film noir stinky dark alley when two guys approached him and started to molest him. Loan never knew what sobriety and subtlety meant so he would always go outside dressed like a glam punk whore and it never failed to get him into trouble of course.

Loan fought back quite honourably, he even managed to give a nice black eye to one of his aggressors thanks to his armour ring. But he eventually ended up being kicked to the ground, curling himself up like a louse. He heard the loud barking of a big dog and the beating suddenly stopped. A voice coming from afar shouted across the alley "Aren't ya fucktards supposed to be working?" – Silence. The dog growled.- "'The hell are you lookin at? Get the fuck out of here." They left in a hurry, their tail between their legs. Loan heard the ferocious barks again when the two guys ran away, then he heard the panting breathing of the dog and its claws on the pavement ; it was coming near him. Loan opened an eye and despite his blurry vision he could distinguish the big, drooling face of an adult rottweiler being busy sniffing his jacket.

« Aika. » The dog immediately left Loan alone, going back to its owner’s side. He could see a long shadow stretching on the ground. He was only a few feet away, slowly getting closer.

Loan was still shuddering on the pavement when he saw a hand reaching out to him. His brain was too dizzy from the beating and the alcohol he didn't hesitate one sec before grabbing that hand. He was freezing and that hand was oddly warm. Loan stumbled as he got back on his feet. "Hey, easy there." Then he spat out some blood before finally looking at his accidental saviour. 

And there he was. Shaun Myers. If only Loan had known all the trouble this man would bring upon him he would probably have run away like the devil was chasing him the second he met those eyes. He first noticed his height ; being 6'3'' and always wearing big combat boots Loan wasn't used to have to look up to meet the eyes of whoever he was talking to. 

Shaun shamelessly rose Loan's chin with his hand, wiping some blood off with his thumb, suddenly noticing Loan's pretty features. The dog was staying still, only its tail wriggling slowly.

"You. You're definitely not a whore." He said scrutinizing Lo's bruised face. Loan said nothing. 

"And you're far from home, aren't ya?"

"Kinda." 

"What brings you here?" 

"I don't know. What do you think brings people here?"

The dog didn’t seem very convinced by Loan’s answer and snarled, baring its teeth.

« Aika… » Its owner said, in a low but firm tone. The dog calmed down, sat reluctantly at Shaun’s feet, still visibly suspicious about Loan.

Shaun smiled, amused by Loan’s wit and his dog’s animosity towards him, then he lit up cigarette and Loan was instantly struck by Shaun's bicoloured gaze. Every single detail about his face set his insides on fire. But it only lasted for half a second- when the lighter swallowed back the flame the image got lost into Loan's numb mind and quickly faded into oblivion. 

"Follow me."

Loan followed Shaun for what seemed like an eternity. The streets were poorly lit but he felt like everyone was looking at them -the hobos, the hookers, the creeps at their windows-  it was like everyone was staring at his open lip and smudged makeup. Little did he know that people weren't staring at him because of his looks, but because of the tall dark stranger beside him walking with a huge rottweiler on the loose.

They arrived near what seemed to be an abandoned facility - probably used to be a school a few decades ago- some walls were partly demolished and the area was surrounded by Portakabins covered with graffitis that the builders must've been using by the time they were working on the site but now they were mostly squats for hobos and junkies. Shaun led him to a wobbly spiral service staircase and Loan almost fell a couple times trying to get down. "Watch your step" they ended up in a narrow alley - a smell of puke and liquor in the dry cold air - Shaun locked the staircase behind them as Loan started to hear some noise coming from nearby ; indistinct people chatting, dull basses, other big dogs barking... 

« You wait here. »

He whistled and left with the dog. Loan noticed the animal was strangely calm and didn’t respond when it heard the other dogs barking from afar. Shaun came back five minutes later, without his beast beside him.

"This way."

He led him to the opposite direction the noises were coming from, to what seemed like a fire door. Shaun pushed it and suddenly Loan was overwhelmed by the harsh neon lights and the infernal hubbub saturating the air of what oddly resembled a hospital corridor. "You're gonna stay here or what? Move your ass." The high pitched, crass laughter of a girl almost broke one of Loan's eardrums as Shaun got him into another staircase. Dirty walls covered with obscene caricatures, tags, spray paint, a guy with his hands inside the panties of the girl he was making out with at the third flight of stairs...

They must've been two floors underground when Shaun stopped in front of one of the doors with a red "Keep out" sign on it. While he was searching for  the right  key inside of his hoodie, Loan lost himself contemplating the graffitis. He noticed a used condom sticked to the tread of his boot. "Putain fait chier. Merde." Then a few 'clicks' and the door opened. Shaun held it open for him as Loan got inside. Never in his entire life had he heard basses so fucking loud. He could barely see in front of him. The atmosphere reeked of sex and marijuana. He could glimpse some sweaty naked bodies kissed by the electric blue neons lights as the DJ was blasting the beat even louder. For a second he lost sight of Shaun and bumped into an obscenely obese guy making him spill some of his drink "I'll cut you motherfucker!" Loan felt a hand grabbing his shoulder and taking him away before the guy could do anything "Better not get lost, Alice, we're already late."

"Late for what? What the fuck is this place??" 

"That's the Asylum babe, the only safe place for someone like you."

Loan was probably too wasted to understand that the Asylum was the actual name of this underground Babylon and he would learn later that Shaun wasn't exactly the type to make jokes anyway. 

Crossing the dancefloor of the Asylum was like swimming into the dark waters of the Phlegethon. A long time ago that place used to be an olympic swimming pool, the echo and even the tiles on the walls were still here- but now it was just a gaping black hole swarming with the broken souls of the fallen ones. 

As they arrived near the bar some girl, visibly quite drunk, made her way to Shaun and lasciviously wrapped her arms around his neck, Loan barely saw her murmuring a word to his ear before Shaun pushed her away with a rare violence. She fell on a  guy who was sitting at the bar, spilling all the drinks and breaking some of the glasses. Her head hit the counter as she fell down, her ankles twisted in what must've been an awfully painful position. Loan stared at her unconscious body in shock - Shaun didn't even flinch when he brushed her off and started to make his way upstairs, without even looking back. "You coming or what?" It was only now that Loan actually considered whether he should really follow that guy or not. He looked at that girl - he could read the words she was muttering on her lips "help me... One hit... Just one fucking hit..." as a some blood was running down her forehead.

Loan shook his head and climbed up the stairs. Some fucking stairs again. Everyone was staring at him, was staring at Shaun, but Loan was honestly too busy staring at Shaun's ass through his Levi's to notice any of that. 

Five minutes later this whole freak show seemed like a distant dream; the room where Shaun had taken Loan was quiet, so quiet it was hard to believe it was actually located in the same building. But here it was ; low ceiling, dim lighting, nothing on the walls where the yellowish white paint was partly bloated because of past inundations, no windows, just one queen size bed with messy sheets, a coffee table with an ashtray filled with cigarettes butts, a door half opened on what seemed to be a bathroom, and one big wardrobe facing the bed. 

"Make yourself at home." 

He sat on the bed as Shaun took off his jacket, beanie and hoodie, tossing them on the chair by the coffee table. Loan was ogling at each of his movements with impunity ; he was way too fucked up to give a damn about decorum. 

"I'll be back in a minute."

Less than a minute later Shaun was back into the room, opening his big hand under Loan's nose. A tiny freezer bag, containing a tiny amount of what could've easily been mistaken for flour or icing sugar.

"Your poison, Snow White."

Loan took the bag, observed it in the light of the bedside lamp as if he had any fucking clue about what he was doing. 

"That's 80£."

"80£??"

Shaun sighed "Jesus, you first timers are the worst. If you don't have the money I'm taking that back, also do I need to mention the house doesn't take credit cards nor cheques?"

"Fine." Loan glared at him shoving the bills into that greedy hand. Shaun hastily put the money inside his jeans' back pocket.

"Now do you wanna fuck?"

"Excuse me?"

"I said do you wanna fuck, like me and you."

"I-I'm not a whore."

"I know, that's why I'm asking you nicely."

Where the fuck was that guy coming from? Loan stared back at Shaun dead in the eye and saw he was serious. He tilted his head, pouted.

"Depends on what you have to offer."

In the blink of an eye Shaun pounced on him like a beast on its prey and before he knew it Loan was nailed to the bed, his face buried in the pillow. He could feel Shaun's hand pressing on his neck with a terrifying strength and he knew he could just snap it at any moment if he liked. He felt all his bulk lunging at his frail body as he leaned forward, until he was close enough so that Loan could feel the warmth of his breath against his ear.

"Just let me get this clear ; I don't have anything to offer. I'm gonna use you. I'm gonna take everything I want from you like it's my fucking birthday. And you're gonna love it even if in the end, you'll regret it, cause that's how it goes. You're probably gonna cry but it won't stop me. I'm not gonna give you my number, I'm not gonna give you a ride home, I'm not even gonna give you my name. Now if you're okay with that say yes." 

"Y-yes. Please." Loan panted. 

"Great." He said thoughtlessly before roughly pulling down Loan's jeans. 

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If you read this then it means you have vanquished this monster post, YAY! Here's a cookie to help you recover from that exhausting and traumatizing experience : 🍪

And ofc, special thanks to @ramblingpolkadots for the question! 😁 it was probably not the answer you expected but hey, it was fun to write this at least