When the device reached Michael's stomach, it shrieked loudly. Both guards locked eyes on Michael, their gazes sharp and dangerous.
Michael's eyes went wide as he stared back.
"Sorry," Michael said smoothly. "Probably just the belt buckle."
The guard shifted his gaze from Michael's belt to his face and back again, skeptical. Michael slowly undid the belt and held it out. The guard ignored it and instead snatched the access card from Michael's right hand.
He inspected the card thoroughly, tilting it against the light to check for authenticity. Finally satisfied, he shoved the card back at Michael.
"You're clean. Go to the third floor immediately. Seems like someone is waiting for you."
Michael fixed his clothes. "Thanks," he muttered.
He walked past them, scanning the area for the elevator. The lobby was a sensory overload. Deafening EDM blasted from the speakers, vibrating in his chest. Scantily clad women approached him, offering drinks or "private rooms," but he brushed them off. The space was bathed in a haze of red, blue, purple, and pink neon lights, the air thick and choking with cigarette smoke.
In the corner, he finally spotted the elevator doors. He hit the up button. When the doors slid open, he stepped inside and pressed the button for the third floor.
Just as the metal doors were sealing shut, a hand jammed them open. A man and a woman in formal wear stumbled in, breathless. Michael pressed the button to close the door again.
The couple retreated to the back corner, completely ignoring Michael, who stood stiffly near the door with a tired look on his face. They started making out loud, wet sounds that grated on Michael's ears like someone slurping melting ice cream.
Michael didn't react. He just stared straight ahead at the steel doors, checking his watch every few seconds.
When the elevator finally dinged and opened, he stepped out briskly, leaving the couple to their business.
He walked down a long, one-way corridor. The white walls were dim, lit only by the eerie orange glow of the red overhead lights.
Michael stopped at a door. He eased it open. Before he even stepped inside, he saw Rossie. She was sitting there in her uniform, humming a soft tune while stroking a small figurine that looked exactly like him.
As the door opened fully, Rossie spun around. She looked like a supermodel—flawless skin, perfectly styled hair, and a scent of expensive perfume that wafted across the room. She wasn't wearing her mask. She stood up immediately and walked toward Michael, who was frozen in the doorway.
"April, I'm he-"
Rossie silenced him with a finger to his lips. She grabbed the back of his head and pulled him down, kissing him slowly. Michael returned the kiss gently, kicking the door shut behind him with his heel. From behind the wall, the rhythmic thumping of a bed frame against the wall soon echoed through the room.
---
Raden's eyes began to glow a menacing red. His breath turned into visible steam, hissing as it escaped his lips. His nails elongated into sharp claws, and his arms tensed unnaturally, veins becoming visible under the skin. His fists clenched tight.
He tried to stand up from his chair, but his body betrayed him. A moment later, he collapsed, hitting the floor with a heavy thud.
From her room, Mora heard the crash. Her eyes went wide. She scrambled out of her room and sprinted toward the noise.
She found Raden sprawled on the front lawn, his body stiff. It was a pathetic sight. Mora rushed over, hoisted him up, and threw him onto her back, carrying him like a father carries a tired child.
Raden was gasping for air. His arms dangled uselessly while his head rested heavily on Mora's shoulder.
"Th... thanks, Mora," Raden wheezed.
Mora rolled her eyes.
"You really are an idiot, aren't you? You know your legs aren't healed yet, but you still try to walk around. You're like a senile grandpa refusing to use a cane."
Raden tried to force a smile, though his face was stiff and unresponsive.
"Am... I... a grandpa?"
Mora scowled.
"Shut up. You're hopeless."
She carried him to his room and lowered him gently onto the mattress. Raden lay there, motionless and silent. Mora let out a heavy sigh and walked out of the room.
Outside, Mora looked up at the darkening sky, the wind messing up her short hair. She walked silently toward her workspace, lost in thought.
She flicked the lights on, illuminating the cluttered room. She looked around, taking it all in.
"If I lost all this, would I actually miss it?" she mumbled. She ran her hand over her favorite desk, remembering the day she and Michael first moved into this massive headquarters. The feeling of owning a space this big, without a boss breathing down their necks, had felt like freedom.
Her thoughts came to a screeching halt when Michael's face flashed in her mind.
"Michael..."
She immediately booted up her main computer. The heat from the machines began to warm the room, so she cranked up the AC and whistled for Kimmy and Timmy.
The massive main monitor roared to life, showing a countdown timer: 3 hours remaining.
Her fingers flew across the keyboard. She powered up the bank of smaller monitors next to the main screen, bringing up the feeds from her hidden drones scattered around the Pink House.
She scanned seven different camera angles. She saw the footage of Michael entering the building, getting patted down by the bouncers... and then nothing. The trail went cold.
"This isn't right..."
---
Michael lay on the bed, staring blankly at the wall. Rossie was clinging to his back, her arms wrapped tight around his chest.
"You act like a guy who's never slept with a girl before," Rossie whispered, her breath hot on his neck. "Is this your first time?"
"Yeah," Said Michael. "First time."
Rossie giggled softly. "Ah... it's my first time sleeping with a man, too."
Michael let out a long sigh. Rossie continued to trace patterns on his back with her fingertips, lingering on the scar on his shoulder.
"Do you like me? You do, don't you?" she asked, her voice dripping with need.
"I do," Michael said. "But... this isn't you."
"Why do you say that?" Her tone sharpened slightly. "Billionaires would kill to be where you are. They offer me warehouses full of cash just to lick my feet, just to spend a few hours with me. I turn them all down. I hate them. I'm giving you this heaven for free, and this is how you react? You should be on your knees thanking me right now."
"I'm not ungrateful," Michael said quietly. "I am grateful. Very grateful. But... this doesn't feel like you. You aren't like this. This isn't the April I know."
Rossie stopped tracing his back. She stared into the middle distance, silent.
"What do you actually want? I'm confused. I can help you. I'm willing to give you everything just to be by your side. Is that not enough?"
Michael turned over. He looked Rossie dead in the eyes. She looked startled. He reached out, cupped her face in his hands, and pulled her in for a deep kiss. She didn't resist.
He pulled away after a moment.
"That's what you want, right? But it's not what I want," Michael said, letting go of her face.
He stood up and started getting dressed. Rossie sat frozen on the bed, watching him.
"I hope you understand," Michael said. He walked out, slamming the door shut behind him.
Rossie remained on the bed, staring at the wall with a hollow expression.
Michael stood in front of the elevator. When the doors opened, another couple was going at it in the corner. He ignored them, stepped in, and hit the button for the first floor.
Down in the lobby, he walked over to the bar and sat down. A woman behind the counter was pouring drinks for a group of men, smiling brightly. When she finished, she turned to Michael.
"Hey, want a drink?"
Michael shook his head.
The woman leaned over the counter, still holding a bottle of alcohol.
"You sure? I'll give you two on the house if you give me your number."
Michael smirked and pulled a cigarette from his jacket pocket. He placed it between his lips. The woman quickly produced a lighter and lit it for him.
He took a long drag, looking more relaxed than he had all night.
"Why do half-brained men come here to throw money at random women? What's the logic?"
The woman laughed. "Calling my job random?"
"No, not like that. I'm not blaming you. I just don't get these guys."
She smirked. "I don't know. Maybe they're bored of their wives? Or maybe they're just lonely and rich. As long as they pay, who cares?"
Michael took another drag and exhaled a cloud of smoke. The woman leaned in closer.
"Have you never tried the girls here? You look just as bored as the rest of them. And you don't look broke enough to pass up the VIP treatment. Why not try one?"
Michael chuckled.
"I don't know. I'm not interested in f*cking the women here. They're beautiful, sure. But not my taste."
The woman raised an eyebrow.
"So, what is your taste?"
Michael inhaled deeply from his cigarette and blew the smoke out slowly.
"That's private. But every man has his own tas-"
A deafening explosion suddenly rocked the Pink House, shaking the entire building to its core.