image [https://cdn.midjourney.com/7f592091-a1e3-4249-9e7a-49606adb528c/0_3.png]
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Peter began preparing an hour before the date. He walked the pup, showered, and spent the remaining time choosing clothes. The System argued jeans weren't a proper choice for a gentleman, so just to shut its blabber, Peter put on deep blue dock pants and a light blue shirt, casually worn outside the trousers. He had a pair of Italian leather shoes his mother gave him on his twentieth birthday, which matched well.
Satisfied, he put a sizeable portion of food on the warg’s plate and exited his room, aiming for the rendezvous point. The girl was already there, albeit he was five minutes early.
"You look great," Regina said after kissing him twice on the cheek, French style. She grabbed his shoulders, keeping him at arm's length to better inspect him.
"T-thanks," Peter blushed. "You look swell, too."
She did, indeed. The buttery white A-shape dress accentuated her light-bronzed skin and shapely figure. Taking in her image made Peter's pulse accelerate. Regina took him by the arm and led the way at a fast pace despite wearing high heels; she was obviously used to dressing up.
“Where are we going?” Peter asked, a bit apprehensive, noticing they were aiming toward a block in the small town’s center where the museums and hotels had been transformed into a cultivator-exclusive zone.
“The Pink Trip,” Regina said merrily. “It’s the perfect place to show us together.”
Fuck!
It’s very expensive and exclusivist. Only cultivators are allowed inside.
Go figure…
“Here we are,” Regina pointed to a former hotel, five or six stories high. “Let me do the talking.”
There was only one bouncer at the entry, but he was in the fourth stage of Body cultivation; Peter could tell after the muscles on his neck. That stage had the biggest muscle mass, but further advances reduced the mass for better fiber quality.
They waited in the queue, which advanced rapidly. Regina whispered something and pushed a small gold coin into the guard’s hand, making Peter gasp. That was worth short of two thousand dollars. The man nodded, and they entered the lobby. There was a second check-up there, but only for those leaving, with another muscled man waving a sort of hand-held detector over the patrons' bodies. That people left a club so early and after being searched was a strange fact that Peter duly noted.
“Come,” Regina said, grabbing Peter’s hand. “Let’s dance.”
She ran forward with small steps, and he had no choice but to follow. A door opened, and then the noise and the light hit. They arrived at the dancing area, and Regina finally released his hand. She started to wave her body and arms up, rotating her wrists and closing her eyes, her hair flowing to the right and left in counter-time.
Regina had a beautiful neckline, and her lean and fit arms, made longer by the exposed armpits, looked like two shiny snakes. It was hypnotizing. Peter tried to match her dance with a basic step he had learned in his reenactment environment, imagining he was listening to a different music. To his surprise, it worked. She opened her eyes and smiled at him.
They danced for ten minutes or more, shaking their bodies along with the other dancing youngsters. Peter noticed that the DJ was very good. Or at least that was his opinion. He wasn’t a musician and had little experience with clubs. They were loud.
Nevertheless, now he had fun. Regina was a sight to behold, attracting much attention. Peter noticed Jack was there, frowning and sulking. A few of his pals were trying to console him, obviously, by patting his back and whispering in his ear. One of them was Ariana.
“That’s what you deserve, jerk!”Peter sneered in a low voice.
“Pardon?” Regina yelled to cover the music, approaching her head to his.
“Jack and Ari are here.”
“Don’t pay attention. Be indifferent and have a good time,” she frowned, puckering her lips.
Yeah… she still hurts from the breakout. Like me… Fucking exes…
Suddenly, the music stopped, the deafening silence hurting Peter’s ears.
“It’s time for a break,” the DJ announced. “Please go to your tables.”
“The DJ takes breaks here?” Peter asked. It was unusual. Half the people stayed on the ring, but Regina took his hand again, pulling him toward a two-person low table.
“There’s a treat,” she whispered in his ear. “A Mana drug. It is totally safe, as long you take only one pill only, though. More will make you sick. You’re supposed to let it melt in your mouth. Spit it out after the manager leaves; it's only for cultivators.”
The fuck?
Then, a couple arrived at their table. The woman held a plate of small pink pills, and the man scrutinized the customers. Regina took a pill and put it in her mouth, then forwarded her right hand. The map pressed a stamp on the back of it. Peter’s brain was steaming at full speed with different thoughts. He imitated her gesture. However, after stamping his hand, the man kept staring at them. There was no way to spit the pill, and it began melting into Peter’s mouth very fast.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
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The System’s yells woke Peter. He had blacked out. However, now, he was in the middle of the dance floor, executing a sort of fandango mixed with break dance, adding somersaults made available by his enhanced body. There was a circle of people around him applauding. All that while the System was shouting expletives in his head.
“Ole!” Peter yelled, finishing his dance in a theatrical gesture. He wobbled back to the table, grabbing a bottle of water from the bar. Regina was nowhere.
Stop it! Peter shouted in his mind at the System.
I’ve said get out of it!
Did you get drugged? Peter hissed.
The System replied after a long silence, stuttering and hiccuping.
“You don’t have to tell me… I blacked out… That’s enough… I knew clubs were not for me…”
“Where the hell is she?” Peter sneered, looking around. Regina was nowhere to be seen. “Whatever. If she’s not back in five, we’re going home with or without her. But meanwhile… let’s do some side projects.”
The noise was loud again. Near the bar, the woman with the drug plate was all alone, sipping a cocktail. Returning to the bar quickly, he asked for a beer, and masking his left hand with the glass, he thrust it obliquely, grabbing a few pills from the plate. He asked a dancer who looked sobber-ish for the toilets and went inside a booth. Producing a small mint rectangular plastic recipient, Peter threw the pink pills inside.
I want to analyze this.
By keeping the package in my mouth. They’re noobs; they check only the bodies.
After storing the gum recipient in his pants, Peter exited the cloakroom. It was on a side corridor, next to the former hotel’s rooms. The space looked old-fashioned, or maybe the new owners didn’t care to refurbish it. A faint noise reached him. He almost missed it, then realized the noise was a scream and recognized the voice. It was Regina.
The System must’ve made the connection, too, and spoke with alarm and no trace of his previous drunkness.
Peter didn't wait for the voice to finish; he rushed farther into the corridor. “Fuck… What door?”
“Enhance Sensorial Performance,” Peter blurted. The second map that had appeared in his mind in the forest during the relaxation session reappeared. There was a struggle in a room ahead.
Instead of that, Peter knelt, looking through the large keyhole. The jock was lying on the floor, unconscious, blood flowing from his nose. Pinning Regina on the bed, face down, the man with the stamp, the manager, was untying his belt. She was now quiet, losing either the power or the will to resist, and was sobbing.
Peter took out the mint recipient, put all but one of the pink pills in his left hand, and then slowly pressed the handle. The door opened. He stepped into the room as silently as he could. There was a brief notification about Sneaking activating. The man didn’t notice him. His pants had been lowered, and his left hand was now pulling the girl's dress up to reach the panties.
There were no thoughts in Peter’s mind, only a cold determination. He pulled the man’s head backward by the hair, shoving the pills in his mouth when the manager gasped and then pushed his foe’s head forward into the wooden headboard.
The man tried to fight and was a Cultivator, albeit clearly not a Body type. He managed somehow to rise on his feet but not to turn to face Peter. They wrestled each other, but a few seconds later, the pills kicked in. The manager froze, foaming from his mouth. Peter smashed the man’s head into the window. The glass cracked, sending rays around the place of impact. At the third hit, the man’s body became limp.
Letting his adversary fall to the floor, Peter turned toward Regina. Wobbling and looking at him with widened eyes, she pulled her dress down, her cheeks beet red, her makeup stretched over her face from the tears.
“What happened?” Peter asked.
“I don’t know… I woke up here with that monster over me…” the girl shivered, hiding her face in her hands. “Jack tried to help, but…”
Peter checked Jack for a pulse and found one.
“I called the police,” Peter said to the girl.
Regina jerked. “No! If my parents find out I took drugs, they’ll kill me!"
“Anonymously. Let’s get out through the window.”
Opening the pan, Peter jumped out first, then stretched his arms to help her. After a brief hesitation, Regina let him grab her midriff, helping her to land. They ran for five minutes, with Peter keeping his hand over her waist to stabilize her, until she stopped abruptly and fell on her knees on a patch of grass, vomiting. Suddenly, he became aware that she was very young and probably inexperienced in the ways of life. The real one that hit you in the face.
“It’s OK,” he said, taking her by the shoulders. “It’s OK.”
A new vomiting access followed.
It’s bafflement. Of course. The police don’t mess with cultivators; it’s too much trouble. They’ll report higher.
How the hell are you intercepting police communications?
“The cops will take care of it,” Peter said, noticing the girl was better and helping her up. “Let’s get back to the campus.”
Regina nodded, and they started walking slowly, his hand around her shoulders. She was trembling, and the silence was awkward, but Peter had no idea what to say.
“Are you a martial artist?” she asked after a while, most likely to break the status quo.
“Sort of,” Peter grimaced. “HEMA and reenactments. I’ve performed in hundreds of tavern and saloon fights… Be this scallywag troublin’ ye, lass?” he transformed his voice, imitating a rough pirate, shutting his left eye. “Back off from the lady, punk, or I’ll fill ya with more holes than a Swiss cheese,” he switched to a Wild West tone.
Regina giggled for a second, then collapsed in his arms, crying. There was not much to do; he caressed her hair, hugging the girl affectionately. Finally, they returned to the safe zone, and Peter escorted Regina inside her dorm, leaving her in front of her room.
A few students were looking at them, and she entered her apartment without saying anything but after pecking his lips in a brief kiss. A flash of powerlessness grasped at Peteer’s heart. He wished he could do more to comfort her, yet there was nothing more to do, so he squeezed his eyes shut for a second, then turned and left.