Ep 3. CLUBHOUSE

His door opens to a dull outside hallway. A weak light in the middle barely fights off the darkness. At the end of the pathway, he sees the busy buzzing lights of the streets. Cars zoom by, and taxis drop off inebriated people on the corner. This is the metropolis of Bastion, Manma, the shining city.

The weekend has the municipality engaged in life. With mask and hood on, Xela set onto the street. Colorful flashes coming from a high-rise building are the pulse of Manma. Many tourists come to the city get mesmerized by the freedom and hospitality of the town, but not Xela. It only seems to remind him of the connection others can share. He holds up his hand, signaling the car sitting under a bright streetlight. The vehicle lights pop on as it slowly drifts on side the waiting boy.

“Where you headed?” the driver says after she rolls down his window.

“The Clubhouse,” Xela replies, getting into the back seat.

The taxi driver notices in the rearview mirror the mask Xela wears; it shocks her.

“Hey... are you sick?”

Xela looks up and replies, "No, I’m not sick. Why, you ask?”

“The mask. Either you’re sick or a robber.” the driver explains.

“Oh... No,” Xela laughs, “Once you see my face, you will be sucking my dick before we reach my destination.”

The driver’s face winces up. She runs her hand through her thick, coarse hair, confused at the comment but intrigued. “I should have guessed you’re a freaky freak going to the Clubhouse.” The driver chuckles back.

“More than you know.” Xela responds.

Arriving at the destination, Xela hears the music. The driver stops the car, puts her arms over the passenger seat, looking back at the masked young man.

“We’re here. And I didn’t get to see your face or suck your dick.” She smirks.

“Maybe next time,” Xela replies.

Xela opens the door, placing one foot out before a piece of paper lands in his lap. He folds it.

“Next time, love Clara,” it reads, accompanied by a number.

Xela closes the door as the car promptly drives away. He can feel the music bouncing off his body as he stands outside the building. The bouncer waves him over. “Xela, my man. Your back. You working tonight?”

“Larry, how's your night? And sadly, yes.” Xela replies.

“It's going good.” The towering man looks at the distressed expression Xela was wearing. “Why are you looking grim? The people love you.”

“They don’t. They love the thought of me.” Xela says, folding his arms in front of his chest.

“Anyway, the money is there.”

“Yeah.”

“Go ahead inside. Minnie was here, but she left earlier. There is a high VIP in there, so put on your best.”

“Who?” Xela asks.

“Alicia Eden. She looks sickly, though.”

“Yuck. Alicia looked sickly ever since her daughter was born.” Xela pats the back of the man and speaks, “I’ll see you inside.”

The walls of the building vibrate with a mixture of electric rave music. The heat of multiple bodies dancing and bouncing together creates a feeling of being inside a hot, humid sauna. The floor was dowsed from sweat and saliva. The patrons grope each other, caressing the skin of the closest person next to them. Xela watches as they swaps drugs from mouth to mouth.

Xela squeezes through the oil and musty fragrance of the clubgoers, stopping only at the bar. A well-dressed light-skinned bartender behind the counter greets the young man. He shakes the drink mixture and gives a hospitable smile.

“Xela, what’s up? You ready for tonight’s show?”

“Keith, long time. And I guess so,” Xela replies.

“You good?” he asks.

“Yeah, I’m straight.”

Xela turns and faces the exuberated crowd. Observing the random smut in the room. The bartender taps him on the shoulder and points to the sealed balcony overlooking the dance floor. Inside, peering down on Xela, stands a ratted-faced, slicked hair tanned man. A pin-striped suit covers his thin body. The man places his hand on the glass pane and raises a phone to his ear. Simultaneously the bartender puts a phone on Xela’s shoulder, “Omar wants to have a word.” Xela then lifts the phone to his ear.

“Please ensure that you put a show. We have a vital guest today,” the slicked-haired man says as he pulls an ailing lovely lady forward.

The once gorgeous beauty turs her nose up at Xela before she coughs violently into her hand cloth.

“Don’t I always.” Xela hands the phone to the bartender and goes into the back.

Sitting inside the dank dressing room, Xela picks up after the previous performers who left the area in a mess. He straightens up the contents of the vanity table before catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. It freezes him in place as he stares at his reflection. He strokes the horn emerging from the top left of his head. Mesmerized, he wonders about himself and his purpose. Suddenly a tap at the door breaks his mental bubble. A voice on the other side yells,

“Xela, it's time.”

He raises the hood on his head and replaces the face covering. A last sigh into the mirror before walking over to the door. It vibrates from the bass of the club’s music as his hand grips the knob. He stops, lays his head on the wooden frame, and closes his eyes. The beat shakes his body, causing his head to lightly tap the door in the matching melody.

Why are you doing this?

I have nothing else.

You could just leave.

And do what?

Disappear.

That scares me more than this does.

Scared... Scared of what? These insects are weak and pitiful.

Isolation. They show me attention. Loneliness hurts sometimes.

They don’t want anything more than your image. The illusion that your unnatural body projects.

At least they want me, though.

We are pathetic. Well then, let’s give them a show.

The door opens with a blast of music entering the room. Four escorts surround Xela as he approaches the stage. The stage light blinds him as the music stops. All the crowd's eyes are on the cloak and hooded figure. A slow hymn of music creeps up. As the beat intensifies, Xela's body moves with the rhythm until it reaches its peak. A brief moment of motionless silence encases the dance floor on and off the stage. Suddenly the beat drops, and Xela's coverings hit the floor. The crowd goes wild, cheering and hollering as each person sees a different image of their deepest physical desire. Unbridled lust filled the minds of everyone that gazes upon the entity of the platform. The VIP Alicia presses her face on the glass, high into the canopy, looking down. Seeing an image of her younger years.

Four minutes pass and the crowd's longing grow deep. The sounds of self-pleasuring and the echoes of moaning entangles together. Desperate cries for Xela fills the room as the onlookers becomes more and more enthrall with an insatiable passion.

See, they want more than my image. They crave more of my body, my soul. And if I let them have more...

A buzzer goes off in Omar’s ear. He lifts his blindfold slightly to check his watch. It’s been five minutes. Reaching his phone and calls downstairs. There is no answer.

What the fuck are you doing, Keith? The rat face man wonders.

The sixth minute goes by. The crowd starts fighting to get onto the stage. Pulling each other down. Growing more and more violent. Blood drips onto the floor while the sound as glass shattering across the face of the club’s occupants.

Omar runs to the window, yelling for the outside bouncer to enact the safety procedure: Contain. Larry places the infrared goggles over his eyes and readies himself. Omar quickly turns off the lights enveloping the dance floor in complete darkness.

“Now!” he screams out the window.

The man burst through the door seeing the red flashing image of Xela’s body on the stage. Larry dashes towards the platform, nearly slipping in a spot of spilled liquor. Hastily jumping onto the podium, swiftly places a bag over Xela’s face before racing into the back. He trips over a broken chair sending him falling to the floor. Xela’s body flew into the wall knocking him out. The bouncer recovers and carries Xela into a room re-enforced with a metal door. Larry breathes heavily. He removes the google, trying to wipe the sweat from his face. Horrified, when the man notices he is covered in blood. He turns to the dance floor and hears the painfully wailing of the many injured amongst the gathering. Ear shattering scream overtakes the cry of the wounded when people realizes what they have done. He looks down at Xela and removes his gun from his hoister and says,

“What that fuck, Xela. You know the rules. I don’t wanna do this shit to you but it’s my fucking job.”

But before he can pull the trigger, curiosity gets the better of him, and he lifts the bag over Xela’s face. Three gunshots can be heard over the club’s music.