Real Self (Part 2)
Now that no one was looking at him, Logan got a better look at the club. Mainly the pole dancers showing off their skills in outrageous outfits around the neon-lit poles.
While the patrons enjoyed their shows, Widow led them past a line of female bouncers to reveal another room. A place reserved for the elites and Logan knew it immediately because the girls performing there looked... exotic, to put it mildly.
"I have seen those girls before," Logan mumbled as 117 and 007 winked at him while entertaining others. "...huh."
However, while Logan was busy recalling the moments of his reward, Izna stomped on his feet, glaring at him before storming off.
"...what did I do?" Logan mumbled before bidding 117 and 007 farewell.
"This is one of my most profitable operations," Widow began once they arrived in her office. "Welcome to Widow's Web, the only club in Tartarus."
She continued, "As you can guess, Nightshade, my syndicate, controls all the entertainment and pleasure in this city of prisoners."
Logan listened intently as the Widow continued talking about her profitable venture. In simple words, she was the enforcer of Tartarus's law in her region.
Their primary job was to gather information, extort those who stepped out of line, and keep the peace in Tartarus, if one could even call it that.
"Everyone knows that stepping into this club means you either want pleasure or to pay off a debt. But that's a stereotype you don't need to concern yourselves with." Widow said, before unlocking a secret door in her office.
It doesn't seem like it's much of a secret if she is willing to show it to strangers.
As they stepped inside, the music grew fainter, replaced with muffled screams. Widow led them down a set of stairs into a dimly lit basement. Inside there, the true nature of the Nightshade greeted Logan.
In one corner, Logan saw a group of girls surrounding a bound man as they kicked and punched him. In another corner, a woman nonchalantly gave shock treatment to a man who was bound to a bed frame, while the man pleaded for mercy. Scenes like these were visible in every direction one looked.
The sight made Logan's stomach churn, but he realized he was the only one who felt like that. Everyone else seemed unfazed, which wasn't strange considering who they were.
"This is our extortion business," Widow casually explained. "We extract information, debts, and sometimes... just to let the girls blow off some steam. Don't worry, we don't kill anyone, except during the weekly Death Games."
"Why is that a big deal?" Logan asked, trying to sound tough, but he was also curious.
"If anyone breaks the rules and kills someone out of the allotted day, those damned cops will storm the city," Widow replied. "They don't care who killed who. For them, we all are the same and they treat us as such."
She continued, "The last time they came here, 125 people died. Just to remind us that because they let us do whatever we want here doesn't mean we get to step outside the boundaries without being punished."
Logan swallowed his saliva. It was the first time since entering Tartarus did he felt like he was in a prison, and it wasn't a pleasant feeling. The feeling of someone watching your every move and controlling your life was strange, but it was the first taste of truth to him.
Before he could ask more about life in Tartarus, Widow turned to lead them even deeper into the basement. However, as soon as Rose opened the door, a rancid stench filled the air, causing Logan to gag.
He instinctively covered his nose, but it did little to block out the overwhelming smell of death and decay. As they entered the floor, a macabre scene waited for them in the form of dozens of corpses.
They had stripped all of them of their implants, and it hadn't been a clean job. Since the dead didn't feel any pain, no one bothered sealing their open wounds that were home to flies and maggots.
Meanwhile, a few people dressed in protective suits were busy dismembering the corpses with glowing hatchets before being fed into strange machines that Logan had never seen before.
"As you might have guessed, this is where we recycle the dead," Widow said, as if nothing was out of the ordinary. "Their implants are valuable, and the rest? Well, it's turned into fuel that keeps Tartarus alive. The dead power every car, every screen you'll come across. Nothing goes to waste in Tartarus."
She continued, "I don't know if the warden told you this, but once you're here, not even your remains will see the light of day. Besides, for people like us, freedom just isn't worth it."
Hearing those words, Logan could barely stop himself from vomiting. Tartarus was an apt name for a hellish place like it. The fear of his life was clear on his face. So much so that Widow approached him, gently patting his cheek.
"Don't worry, 208," she whispered. "You won't be working here. As a creationist, I want you to procure blueprints for us. That's all."
"But I'm a creationist only in the game," he stammered. "I've never even held a weapon in my life and you want me to make those things for you?"
Everyone went silent and stared at him in disbelief. They were in Tartarus! A place where they sent the worst of the worst to live.
Everyone in the city knew how to use at least a dozen weapons, and Logan was claiming he had never even held a weapon in his entire life, and yet he was among them?
However, while everyone thought Logan was lying, Widow saw an opportunity.
"You've never handled a weapon?" Widow mumbled. "It's a simple task to deal with."
Suddenly Rose kicked Izna in the back of her knees, forcing her to kneel before she quickly restrained her. The sudden change in the atmosphere took aback Logan, but Widow paid no attention. She produced a small black pistol from her thigh holster and passed it to Logan.
"Here," she said. "Kill her."
"What—?"
"Kill her or you both will die."
Logan stared at the gun in his hand. He had no plans to die in Tartarus, but the idea of using the weapon to kill someone made his stomach churn.
…FUCK!