Evelyne invited us to a party to celebrate her successful video shoot.
The transition from the clinical luxury of the Sun Estate to the grit of the city was jarring. By 9:30 PM, the canyon air had been replaced by the smell of rain and old brick. The address Evelyn gave us led to a nondescript, dimly lit street where a faded neon sign for a wholesale butchery flickered intermittently.
"A butcher shop, Druski?" Sasha whispered, adjusting her silk dress as we stepped out of the car. "Are we sure we're at the right place?"
"In this world, the more boring the front, the more twisted the back," I replied, checking my cuffs.
We bypassed the front entrance, walking down a narrow alleyway where a massive, scarred man in a tailored tuxedo stood guard by a heavy steel meat-locker door. He didn't speak. I held up the gold-embossed invitation cards. He gave them a cursory glance, then reached into a wooden crate and handed us two onyx-black half-masks.
