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Mauve Mint Candy
14086d
Maxine hunkered down for a long post reading. As she read, she nibbled on her food, fufilling her eat requirement today, meaning she is not going to suffer any sort of penalties.
The post itself read as follows:
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USER: StupidYuppieScum
DATE: 01/17/2085
TIME: 7:23 AM
Title: The Never Never's secret VIP section
Hi, Big Secret! "Jeff" here.
To recap where we left off, I convinced a friend of a friend of mine to take me to the Never Never. You know, the oh-so brooding Goth type that surrounds himself in darkness. As some of you know, after you're recommended and you get your email, you're set for the "Never Never experience" as long as you keep it cool.
Getting into the VIP area is another thing entirely. I know had promised nearly eight months ago, but it was an uphill struggled and I didn't want to get blacklisted. Most people don't even know where it is. Considering the mass of flesh and the subsection of rooms, it makes sense. I knew there had to be there. though. All the signs were pointing to it.
It took a month or so to piece it all together, but I found the way in: a red match book.
I wasn't even at the club at the time. I was outside of the Summerland Mall returning a defective Christmas gift, waiting on the corner of the MagRail to pick up its load of passengers. Given the hour, it was literally only me and one other person. He was male bull in his mid 20s. He was tough looking, too, the kind that earned his muscles and callouses, albeit this was over a that filter of gauntness that is so common among the homeless.
I offered him my other mall pretzel and it disappeared in a blink. I offered him a cigarette as a follow up and like a smart person, he rejected it. When I went to try and light my own up, he offered me a matchbook. I lit it without hesitation, pocketing the matches without thinking about it. I stood there in silence for a bit as we exchanged awkward glances, before I broke down and started a conversation with a man we'll call "John".
"John" came from a long generation of dock workers, going back to the mid-1900s. He took worked there for a while in his late teens until progress phased him out. Unfortunately for "John", he didn't have the face for the service industry, the mind for college, or the attitude for the military. He lived with his mother for awhile until breast cancer took her out. Then, he was on his own, unable to afford the apartment he lived in, forcing him out into the streets.
"John" just kept saying "I'm gonna bounce back. I have my chance." Each time he finished a negative thought, he puncuated it with that ray of hope. I was tempted to ask him how, but the night was only getting colder and he needed the warmth.
The MagRail came and I started to board it, pausing briefly to look back at "John". He didn't have the money to ride it and when I offered to pay for it, he said, "Robots'll just shoo me out anyway." I gave him the money anyway before I hopped into the MagRail disappeared into the night.
I fumbled through my pockets for another smoke and discovered the matchbook. I felt so awful for having taken this man's only means of fire. I might have rode it all away back around, but I felt that by the time I got there, "John" would be gone and I'd have to take cab home.
I stared at the matchbook in shame, until I started to realize something. This was remarkably similar to the matchbooks The Never Never's smoking section.
While those matchbooks were white, this one was fire truck red. The lady on the cover was winking, her big grin now replaced with a slight smile. When I opened it up, I realized that there was a barcode inside the matchbook with something written behind the matches: "V 10/84 - 12/84".
"John" had inadvertantly gave me a way inside the VIP section!
I decided to save my matchbook for New Year's Eve. After all, it would have been one hell of a party.
I brought along the matchbook and showed it to the bouncers. He looked at me, and the matchbook, almost a little confused. He said "Must be new" to the other bouncer before giving me directions to the other door. Of course! Why would the VIPs enter the same way? After going down a series of hallways, boom, I was met with a door and two more bouncers. Showed them the matchbook again. One of them pulled out a scanner and rubbed it down the top of the matchbook. The double doors unlocked and one of them said "Have fun".
The open the door and.. woah. Just..
It was like walking in on your parents fucking. Not just normal fucking either, but intense, fetishistic fucking. The kind where your dad is in your mom's clothing, your mom's in latex and welding a strap-on, and there's a strange, third woman tied to a chair wearing a stained, luchador mask.
Yeah, the VIP room had the kind of imagery you'd need therapy for.
This room in particular with tiered downward. I was on the first level and it featured the usual suspects of Never Never. Drugs, alcohol, loud music, dancing, and not-so-stealthy 'jobs underneath velvet covered tables. The usual stuff, except now it was a who's-who. The Soviets could have dropped one bomb right there and at least 20% of the those we trust to entertain, to inform, and to lead would be gone. 60% if we're talking just big, Lakeshore names.
I didn't go to the second tier immediately under me, but I assume it was an orgy, both in the literal and decedant sense. The stairwell in the back was tempting to go down, but my eyes were drawn more-so to the pit in the center of the room, where the floor opened up and revealed the goings on below on the third tier.
A drab, concrete floor with two doors. It was curious given the nature of the club, but nothing to merit too much time in, consider all the other stimuli.
I scoffed it off and attempted to hob-knob with celebs. The shit they said was just.. awful. Everything you'd expect and nothing you'd want to hear coming out of their mouth. How their charity were slush funds, laughing at poor people, what stuff they were keeping quiet in the media. All of it. I could write a book.
I noticed a small kiosk toward the back that people were slowly starting to gather around. I didn't approach, but people it was obvious that people were placing bets, handing over stacks of cash.
Then, the barker came out.
This top hatted (yes) mother-fucker drew our attention to our pit down below, speaking about the Big Fight that was about to happen as if everyone in the room already knew what was going to happen. Then, the two doors open. The first door opened up and this massive 'bot rolled out on tank-treads. He looked like a refridgerator with arms.
Then "John" came about out of the other door.
I knew what was going to happen next.
Upon reflection, maybe there was a buried hope. I mean, that's why we where here. That's why people were betting. That's why, when I looked into his eyes, I tried to cheer him on non-verbally.
But, I knew what was going to happen.
I watched for a little bit before backing away slowly. The display was sickening. I backed away to the smoking's room, hoping to calm down with a cigarette, but vomitting instead to the disgust of a European baroness. I just bolted for the door after that, barely faining some sickness for anyone that might show a brief interest in me.
I got away as far as I could on foot, thinking somehow my weak consitituion was going to mark me as other in the eyes of these elites. By the end of it all, I was standing at the shore of that big lake we call home, the cold winds chilling my insides.
I didn't care. I wanted to be here. I wanted to stare at this. If somehow put it all together, I wanted them to find me here. I wanted my narrative to end here, either heroically or at least poetically.
They never came. I sat huddled in my big coat for several hours before I called a cab to come pick me up. I sat on the information for sometime, wonder if I should even release it or not. After losing sleep, I decided that I would, but only here and only on an old Quik-Chek Terminal. The names were obviously changed and SOME aspects of the story have been changed or omitted as not to draw attention to myself. As LayeredCake would say, "Lord knows who might be on here."
I'll stick around to answer a few questions, but please, for the love of G-d, do not make me go into details.
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Maxine would be the first person to post on this. The post itself is barely seven minutes old.
What question should she ask? Or should she just watch and wait for others to post?
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