2: New People, New Problems
Descending down, Jackson was extremely careful not to slip. Of course, who'd want to die again in such a miserable way? The sun outside was barely holding itself on the horizon, and of course Jackson would not risk staying there at night. Closing the door, darkness claimed. The aluminum material, and even the plaster of the walls were well polished — Jackson noted while holding on the handrails. As he descended, Lights started to reflect from the walls, and on the very deep, a powerful, absolutely horrific stink.
Finally, he found the end of these stairs. The hall ahead was quite peculiar, in many ways. Dirt, grey pool tiles covered the walls and floor, an alcohol smell impregnated to the place — barely recognizable in the middle of a filthy stench of trash. Slits on the roof cast sterile white lights with a slight green sheen, as the wet place reflected it back everywhere towards his eyes.
Jackson held tight his hair. Himself couldn't fathom the chaos he'd do if it touched these filth surfaces…
Why does this look like the end of a filthy orgy in a pool house? — Jackson thought as the smell got stronger.
Probably because it did. Dry vomit on corners, tobacco flying through the air, bottles everywhere as Jackson followed. Not inexperienced with these kinds of get-togethers, he quickly focused on the path ahead and where he'd step on.
There it is, people.
Two tall, visibly altered men stood at the entrance of another room, a high music behind muffling their chitchat. Jackson immediately turned back. Picking an alcohol bottle on the ground, he spit the remaining liquid onto his clothes. Of course, also careful not to touch his hair. Now, just the theater skills to be once again regained.
How long have I not practiced it again…Let's see if I'm still sharp.
Jackson's movements got sloppier, a naturally printed face of a retard now overriding his own. Some minutes to perfect it again and no one would notice he was the magnificent Jackson they never knew. His smell, once neutral, now stinked with booze. The facade was complete.
Jackson finally turned again to Goon One and Goon Two, as he named them.
Please don't come. Please, don't notice…
With ease, Jackson passed. Though…
"Heyr-" Mister Goon One called for him as Jackson passed, his hazy eyes slowly turning to him and touching his shoulder.
Damn!
"moderate on the alcohol, man…" he said, staying quiet for exactly ten seconds before Goon Two continued.
"Yeah…Join mother nature instead. These ones cost only 3.2 Carats per cigarette, bro…" the other one whispered to Jackson, a long cigarette being offered.
W-what… — Jackson fell out of his facade for a second after entering. Club security? These morons are nothing but two drugged beggars you'd find in any alley! If he just knew, he'd not show the magnificent theatre skills he cultivated his entire life just to avoid two goons-of-the-weed.
Nonetheless, Jackson was there. The drunk facade could still be useful. Passing by the haze, Jackson's eyes immediately turned dry and red.
Ugh. I hate these kinds of parties. — closing his eyes, Jackson tightly clenched fists.
"People" were wearing little to no clothes inside. It was a long, very long hall. Instead of just white sterile lights, slids of purple and red also covered the roof, slowly shifting in colors.
As Jackson continued walking and seeing, things got even weirder. Senile men, too old for the place they were, loads of them looking expectantly — even viciously to the walls, lines of them waiting behind each other. What were they so anxious for? Some holes on the tiled walls. Jackson sighed in relief as he saw them smoke something of the holes through tubes; not mating with them, fortunately.
Getting close to one particular asiatic looking, Jackson tried some sort of talk.
"He~y, sir," he burped booze. The drunken facade could not fall. "care to tell me the place's name?"
The old asiatic man, surprisingly lucid given his condition, answered clearly.
"A newcomer, yeah? Ehh…I can sell this spot… It will be 40,25 Carats." the old man smiled cheekily.
". . .Nevermind." Jackson frowned and paid no attention to the man's nonsense, turning to the next one. Again, no useful information.
There.
This time, he took a different route. The key to a fruitful approach was using your victim's jargon and the gestures that came with it.
"What's happening lately, bro?" Jackson's voice pitched while he asked the crumbling lifeform, a hand snapping a finger while he posed and pointed towards the deteriorated life-being. One could also notice his flushed face, too embarrassed to look straight.
The over-aged troublemaker turned, his noisy golden pendant shaking meanwhile; something he made sure to show off.
"The same. More and more of these drugs monopolized, day by day." He coughed in a low rumble.
"Now, you can only find some nice weed from beneath," he scoffed.
"if lucky enough that they sell you."
The crippled geriatric gave no proper answer after that, mumbling barely audible words and sucking the tube again.
". . .better than the last." he sighed. The next room was not any better, filled with smoke and dirt. He passed through quickly. Opening an aluminum door on the end, another staircase appeared. Descending, Jackson gasped briefly.
Sober people, at least.
A normal hall. Navy plaster covered the walls, the carpet on the ground wet with the dripping liquid above. Doors laid each five meters. Just like the insides of a condominium, people entered and left constantly, talking, smoking, and trading things for peculiar looking stones. The smell, much for Jackson's delight, got stronger.
He carefully walked through. Muffled noises — moans, mainly, were heard inside each room he passed. The ground smelled worse than the smoke; rotten fish with bleach, his sneakers picking quite the attention with each step on the wet carpet, squeaching noises echoing through.
People eyed Jackson as he passed; a handful of them, at least. They were mainly the beggar-looking ones, those who were here, but not inside a room.
"Heya, handsome~"
Jackson gave a brief look; a rough woman's face? no, that'd be an euphemism. An eldritch horror with breasts hissed towards Jackson. Ginger broken hair, yellowed teeth; her scabies graced his view, the loose lipstick on her mouth darkening as "she" kissed the air towards him.
Hugging Molly?!
Frightened, Jackson could only hasten his pace.
"Bloody hell. Even here?" his trembling lips mumbled as Jackson darted towards another hall.
. . .
Finally, Jackson had some time to think about everything. Long minutes after the traumatic event, he began to think about everything that had happened.
Firstly, I died. — He reassured himself. That was not Earth, it could not be. Neither a dream, he already tested that out. Secondly…
What is this place?
Jackson found himself wondering about this for a long time. Not only about the building he was inside, but this world — or Dimension, he was not sure. Not a single thing here seemed normal. Jackson felt overloaded with everything here, constantly tense. Yet, how was he going to get food? Water? Or money?
Yeah. I'm going to gain nothing by just sitting my ass here the entire day. — he thought, before remembering the day cycle inside this hell was like no other.
[Hunger increased.]
Huh?
Jackson turned his head to see who just talked. Not a single being was near him, a rare occurrence given the amount of people through this building. Yet…what was that?
Looking at the upper corner of his vision, Jackson saw tiny, faint icons. Barely perceptible, he could keep the entire day without noticing it.
Hell.
Four icons stacked one above another. First, a stomach half-filled. Beneath, a water droplet completely full.
My hydration?
Even further, a medical blood bag. Given his experience with games, Jackson could not help but relate it with his health. Given a single white star on the icon, the same with his hydration, Jackson roughly guessed it had to do with them being totally filled up. Now, what truly puzzled him.
Looks like a…Kyawthuite?
An orange crystal with a polygon format. If Jackson had to guess, it'd be the currency of this world. He was no smartass in precious stones, but he could very well identify the most expensive mineral of the entire Earth. Not exactly expensive; its value was unfathomable.
If I remember well, the two drugged asses said something about Carats. So this means they use it as a currency?! — his flabbergasted face froze; before slowly turning into a smirk Jackson himself didn't notice. He'd do anything to swim inside a bathtub full of them, even if here the stone meant little.
Standing up, Jackson decided that work had to be done. Per the system analysis, he was hungry. He could always think about the other matters later.