[Club Hexoset]
"Alright, ladies, badges up. One at a time," the bouncer announced in a gravelly baritone.
The nightclub was a converted four-storied industrial monolith dominating the block. The ground floor had a matte exterior broken only by vertical strips of neon violet. Above, the second and third floors featured reinforced glass bricks glowing with an amber light, hinting at the VIP or VVIP lounges within.
The crowning fourth floor was a glass-walled penthouse where the establishment's owner attended to important guests.
Standing imposingly at the entrance, like a sentinel, was the bouncer—a mountain of a man. His tanned skin contrasted sharply with the multicoloured mohawk on his head, rising like a fin. A black tank top strained dangerously against shoulders as broad as those of a grizzly bear.
At the front of the growing queue stood a triptych of young women in identical, low-cut glitter-sequin dresses.
Despite their matching outfits, they were beautiful, but in different ways: one had a pixie-cut platinum blonde look, another was statuesque with an athletic grace and a deep complexion, while the brunette had a softer, more ethereal air.
They exchanged light-hearted giggles, their sequin dresses catching the neon strobes and scattering light like disco balls. With a collective mischievous grin, they playfully nudged pixie-cut forward.
"He's all yours, Chloe," the athletic one called out in a conspiratorial tone.
Somewhat flustered by the sudden spotlight—and the size of the man in front of her—Chloe stepped forward. She extended her hand, fingers trembling slightly.
"Hi there," she greeted him in a squeaky voice, betraying her nerves. "I think we're on the list?"
Under the bright signage announcing "CLUB HEXOSET," the hexagon tattoo on Chole's wrist shifted from a dull charcoal to a bioluminescent violet, mirroring the pink and blue calligraphy above the entrance.
The bouncer's presence softened, only by the dimples that appeared when he grinned. His holographic name tag read Snigel. He leaned off the velvet rope, his eyes crinkling as they landed on her.
"Hello yourself, darlin'," he rumbled in a low bass. "Let's see that ticket to paradise, shall we?"
Reaching into his pocket, Snigel pulled out a sleek, matte scanner.
As he swept the device over the hexagon tattoo on her wrist, a ping cut through the queue's chatter.
A holographic pane rose above Snigel's HoloSmart. It bathed his face in a blue light, displaying her portrait and a rotating 3D model of her identity marker. A green checkmark sat next to the letters V.I.P.
The display was clean. The absence of further details indicated her status as a Normie.
"Ch-lo-e," Snigel sang, stretching the vowels into a melody. He looked up from the display. "Pretty name. You look like you're fixin' to stir up some trouble in there."
Chloe felt her flushed cheeks burn but offered a small, crooked smile. "Only the harmless kind, I assure you."
Snigel chuckled, stepped aside, and the heavy metal door behind him hissed open to reveal a glimpse of the strobe-lit chaos within.
"The harmless kind is indeed my preferred variety," he said, giving her a courtly nod of his massive head. "Welcome to Hexoset, Chloe. Try not to let the night swallow you whole."
Taking a step forward, the second woman seemed to operate in her own atmosphere, well aware of the space she occupied.
"It's my turn, big fella," she said in a honeyed rasp, punctuating the statement with a playful wink and offering a hand that looked as strong as it was elegant.
Snigel let his gaze linger appreciatively, taking in the way her evening dress clung to a frame built for speed.
"Be gentle on the wrist there," she continued. "I've got a hot date waiting for me on the dance floor, and I'd prefer to keep all my joints in working order."
"Is that so?"
Her lips, painted deep crimson, curved into a predatory smile. Up close, her eyes were a glacial cerulean.
"I was just starting to get used to the view," Snigel smoothly remarked as their skin finally met.
A soft beep from the scanner between them broke the tension, flashing a notification on the interface.
"Scarlett," he read aloud. "A name like that... I would presume you possess a fiery temperament to match. Planning to break a few hearts tonight?"
Scarlett threw her head back, letting out a clear laugh. "Is that an invitation, Snigel?"
"Perhaps," he replied, a spark of mischief glimmering in his eyes as he tightened his grip on her hand, just enough to show he wasn't intimidated by the fire. "I've always found the most dangerous views worth the climb."
Then he let her go to her waiting friend.
The brunette had effervescent energy that bubbled over into melodic giggles whenever her friends cracked a joke.
When she finally stepped up to Snigel, his hardened demeanour softened at the sight of her petite frame.
"You're a fresh face, aren't you?" he asked, leaning down. His massive silhouette momentarily swallowed her in his shadow as he scanned her hand.
Lily didn't shrink away. Instead, she leaned into the space, tilting her head back to meet his eyes. She coquettishly fluttered her eyelashes.
"Ah, sweet Lily," Snigel murmured, looking at the scan results. "A word of advice: Hexoset is a den of beautiful distractions. Be cautious, and don't let these two troublemakers lead you too far astray."
Scarlet and Chloe giggled, whispering to each other.
Lily smiled, twirling a strand of her hair around her finger. "I'll try my absolute best to stay out of trouble, Snigel," she purred, "but I've never been very good at keeping promises."
A boisterous laugh erupted from Snigel, turning the heads of those still waiting in the queue.
"That's the spirit. Now, get on inside, all of you," he said, flashing a surprisingly charming grin as he unhooked the velvet rope, sweeping his arm wide to grant them passage.
The heavy bass from within hit them like a physical wave as they crossed the threshold. Led by Scarlett's confident stride, the trio began a synchronized catwalk into the club.
Snigel watched them disappear into the throng before the mask of the doorman slid back into place. Turning his attention back to the queue, his voice boomed again.
"Next!"
Ratelsi winced, sucking her teeth sharply. The sound of the man's voice grated on her nerves like flint on stone.
"Is there any actual need to shout?" she asked, annoyed. "We are standing right in front of you. Unless your eyes are as useless as your manners, you can see us perfectly well."
Snigel's smirk curdled. For a moment, his composure slipped, revealing a fleeting irritated look. He took her in properly then, recognizing the brown skin and those venomous, slitted green eyes.
It was her—the one who humiliated and disfigured Mhode's face.
This realization sparked a petty stubbornness in his chest. Consequently, he felt a sudden reluctance to allow her passage. Snigel regarded Timoth with a sidelong glance, sizing him up with noticeable disdain.
Ratelsi didn't wait for the bouncer to find his tongue, tilting her head toward her companion.
"Say, Timoth," she said, not taking her eyes off Snigel. "How much satisfaction do you imagine I'll derive from punching him the next time he glares at me?"
Timoth smiled a mocking grin. He seemed to enjoy where this was going.
"Oh, I'd say it would bring you immense pleasure. Transcendent, even," he replied, looking Snigel up and down, lingering on the man's tightened jaw. "Some people are born with faces that just... provoke a desire to rough them up a little."
Snigel's hand drifted toward his holster, but the unsettling intent behind Ratelsi's predatory stare made him hesitate. She was watching him. Carefully. Following his body movements, down to the faintest shudder.
He then realized, perhaps too late, that he no longer held the upper hand in this exchange.
Still, Snigel's sneer deepened at their exchange, and he muttered with contempt, "Verdammt widerliche schweine."
Now, Ratelsi didn't understand German, but even a blind man could tell that was a fucking slur. She bared her teeth in a snarl, then, fueled by a sudden audacity, closed the distance between her and Snigel.
Her eyes moved over him with the cold, clinical detachment of a butcher weighing up a carcass. She studied Snigel not as a man, but as a collection of parts, mentally marking the joints where her blade would slice in easiest.
What was meant to be a simple power play suddenly felt high-stakes, charged, almost electric.
Snigel felt it in his marrow. An instinctual awareness triggered the fine hairs on the bouncer's arms to rise; his entire being felt threatened by her proximity, recognizing a threat his mind couldn't quite name.
It was like being trapped in a cage with something wild and nameless, something that lived for the hunt. Behind those eyes, he was certain the fucking creature was cackling with glee.
And she was..
Ratelsi's lips parted in a wicked grin. She could tell from the Normie's increasingly scornful expression that he sensed her intent to provoke, and this realization evidently displeased him.
But at that moment, the club door swung open and out came a tall blond man with his face smeared in red lipstick. His shirt was unbuttoned with his zipper undone, but he didn't seem to care.
The initial whiff of booze reached the queue first, followed by a mix of sweat and sex as the tipsy dude clumsily staggered past them.
Timoth said to Snigel, seemingly unfazed by the latter's malevolent glare. "Listen, man, we obviously don't like you any more than you seem to like us. So how 'bout you just tell us where Broco is, and we'll take our leave, yes?" He discreetly gestured toward the bags they were carrying.
Snigel's gaze flickered between Timoth's face and the bags in question. The mention of Broco, coupled with the implication that they possessed something of significance for him, momentarily disarmed Snigel.
His aggressive stance softened a bit. Although he still looked like he'd rather knock them out than speak to them, the threat in his posture eased.
"How do I know you're not here to cause trouble afterwards? Broco's already occupied with important guests and is not anticipating any other visitors. Especially not…." He shot a venomous glare in Ratelsi's direction, who met his look with an assertive tilt of her head, silently daring him to take a swing.
Timoth exhaled a long, exasperated sigh. "Clearly, you don't know we're his runners. Call him or whatever, but you gotta let us through, alright? At least let us wait in a different area."
Snigel looked indecisive.
Evidently, he struggled to trust them, having never encountered them before. But the boss would never send for these...Peculiars unless he required their specific services. Still, Snigel felt the need to be thorough. After all, it wouldn't be the first time someone used Broco's name to gain unauthorised access to Hexoset.
"Hand over the bags," Snigel said, extending his upturned palm.
Naturally, he expected compliance. But before Timoth could even raise his foot, Ratelsi's forearm shot out, thudding against his chest. The impact rooted him to the spot.
"Like shit he will," she bit out.
She looked at Snigel's outstretched hand, a slow, predatory smirk lifting the corners of her mouth. It promised nothing but chaos.
"In fact," she purred dangerously, "I'd love to see you try and take them. Please. Give me an excuse to beat the fuck outta you."
The invitation dangled in the air, catching the attention of some of the patrons waiting for their turn. They murmured to each other, wondering what was going on.
The bravado that usually fueled Snigel died out, making him nervous to the point of nausea. There was something fundamentally wrong about the woman standing before him.
Every time those dizzying, hypnotic eyes of hers met his, his skin crawled like worms writhing beneath his flesh.
His pride screamed at him to lunge forward, but his instincts were screaming louder, begging him not to dare.
Static crackling from the earbud positioned within his ear brought him to his senses. Snigel blinked, instinctively reaching for the small device. Broco's impatient tones followed.
"Let 'em in, you idiot," He hissed through the speaker. "They got my gifts, so I'll deal with them. Don't fucking make a scene."
With his jaw tightly clenched, Snigel directed his gaze to the hidden camera within the signage, his sense of pride clashing with the direct order. He was clearly pissed; he had a job to do, more people had joined the queue, and his guts screamed that these Peculiars were trouble.
Nevertheless, an order must be followed, despite his strong desire to prevent Ratelsi's entry and to wipe that arrogant smirk off her stupid face.
And so, the Normie and Peculiar remained engaged in their silent stare down, a battle of wills tested to measure the other's resolve.
Timoth scoffed, crossing his arms under his chest. "Understand this bro, there's absolutely no way you stand a chance against those eyes. Trust me, I speak from experience."
Snigel's lips drew back in a thin, visible line of revulsion. His eyes, wide and slightly narrowed, seemed to be fighting the urge to look away from the object of his distaste.
And he succumbed to it, finally wrenching his gaze away from Ratelsi. Snigel dismissively jerked his chin toward the entrance.
"Penthouse," he spoke impatiently. "Through the main hall, past the bar, then left to the elevators. Vesir will escort you."
It was clear the Normie couldn't rid himself of them fast enough.
Even as the directions left his mouth, he was already gesturing vaguely toward the mezzanine.
"Such a pity," Ratelsi murmured, not bothering to look back. "I was truly hoping to savour your pathetic howls. It's been a remarkably dull afternoon."
Timoth followed a step behind, dipping his head toward the man as he passed, his eyes bright with malice.
"Believe me now?" he whispered.