Hydro de Benzene was a five-story pleasure palace, each floor a distinct mask, exposing guests’ deepest desires, burning their minds and bodies to ashes. Drenched in sin, stained by evil, it was a manifested abyss, dragging souls into endless dark desire. Once fallen, escape was near impossible—sin carved into body and mind, leading to madness.
Lingering here, exposed to the madness in the air, would unhinge anyone. Catching a faint, sweet rot, Danan paused, his face twisting at the nauseating stench wafting from the fourth floor. He drew his shotgun from its holster.
“Danan? What’s wrong?” Gloria asked.
“You don’t smell that?” Danan replied.
“Smell? What?”
Genuinely puzzled, Gloria tilted his head, ascending the stairs.
Better to stay cautious. Should Danan warn Gloria about the stench’s source—Aeshma’s threat? Stepping forward, the overpowering rot warped his vision. Scanning the surroundings, he froze, stunned.
Opulent decor, handsome men, and women and children in dresses, chatting with wine glasses. Sinking into real leather sofas, served by tuxedoed butlers and maids, the scene resembled a high-class club—a socialite’s haven. No trace of the fiery desires from the first three floors; calm classical music filled the fourth, devoid of the undercity pleasure district’s shadow.
Yet… Danan’s grip tightened, the shotgun’s steel creaking. The floor’s sweet decay assaulted his brain, screaming to stay alert.
Danan and Gloria looked out of place, haggard. Danan, in black armor, sword at his waist, shotgun raised. Gloria, his white suit bloodstained, hands caked in dried crimson. Noble ladies hid their mouths with feathered fans, while sleek-suited men cast scornful glances.
“Sirs,” a tuxedoed butler approached, bowing deeply. “We have fresh attire prepared. If I may, please change.”
“No,” Danan snapped.
“But, sirs, this floor requires a dress code…”
“Still no. What, planning to disarm and kill me? No guarantee of safety, so why would I?”
“Danan,” Gloria interjected.
“What?”
“We should comply.”
Still—Danan started to protest, but Gloria covered his mouth, whispering, “We’re being sized up.”
“…Explain,” Danan demanded.
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“This floor mimics high society. I know it too well.”
“So? Raise our hands and die?”
“…Follow the rules. I’ve got a plan.”
“…”
Stepping forward, Gloria smiled at the butler, showing his card. “This is my friend, my bodyguard. Allow his weapons. Okay?” His white teeth gleamed.
“Understood. To the changing room, then.”
“Thank you. Oh, and—”
“Yes, sir?”
“No food. We’ve got business on the fifth floor.”
“Yes, sir.”
Following the butler, Gloria winked at Danan.
“What’s this about, Gloria?” Danan asked.
“Nothing fancy, Danan. Just play your role.”
“Role? Babysitting a rich boy?”
“You’ve got a sharp tongue. Exactly—you’re my friend and guard.”
“…Fine.”
Grumbling, unapologetically defiant, Danan drew a chuckle from Gloria. Disarming him was impossible, but without compliance, they couldn’t advance. So, Gloria assigned him the role of follower—likely to Danan’s chagrin.
The stares stung. Eyes of those ready to eliminate disruptors pierced them. This socialite floor was a den of cunning snakes, a corridor of scheming ghouls chasing profit and connections. Gloria glanced at a staring noblewoman, smiled at a poised gentleman, and stopped at a wooden door.
“This is the changing room,” the butler said.
“Got it. Danan, know how to wear a suit?”
“…You think I do?”
“…I’ll change first. Do what you can.”
“Yeah.”
After a brief exchange, they entered separate changing rooms, shedding their clothes.
Danan had never worn a suit. Used to shirts, armor, or an old man’s coat, formalwear was alien. Recalling an elder who wore suits well, Danan slipped his arms into the sleeves, muttering, “Tight.” He fumbled the tie into a mess.
Sighing, he stood before a mirror, eyeing his mechanical arm against the black suit and white shirt. It blended like a glove—not bad. He could still stab enemies with his high-frequency blade. Adjusting the choking tie, he tucked Heres into his belt, hid the holster inside the suit, nodded, and left the room.
“Gloria.”
No answer. Knocking, Danan heard a shower running and crossed his arms.
Blood’s no big deal, right? Or does a mid-city rich boy hate the stench that much? Waiting, Danan scanned the changing room, sighed, and tapped his mechanical arm.
Reach the next floor, fulfill Gloria’s goal, and it’s over. Then, with Hakara, head to the hideout for Eve’s treatment. That’s why he was wasting time ensuring a safe escape. Gloria’s talk of future ties meant nothing. Focus on the goal.
“…”
A flash of red hair caught his eye.
“—”
A girl in a stunning dress, beaming brightly, captivated him. He forgot to breathe.
“…Why?”
That figure… no, impossible. She was dead, a skeleton in a dark sewer. Her age should’ve been close to his—over twenty, an adult woman, not a girl.
Noticing his stare, she met his gaze with red eyes, tilted her head curiously, and left the changing room. Frozen, as if sewn in place, Danan rubbed his eyes, muttering, “Hallucination,” shaking his head.
“No… she can’t be alive. It’s someone else… definitely.”
“What’s someone else, Danan?” Gloria’s voice cut in.
“—!” Gasping, Danan drew his gun, eyes wide at Gloria, who flinched.
“…Tacky taste,” Danan said.
“What?”
“You’re a man, right? Why the dress?”
“Looks good, doesn’t it? Thought I’d try something new.”
“…I don’t get it.”
In a pure white dress, Gloria looked like a flat-chested woman. His androgynous face and ambiguous voice already blurred gender, but Danan had pegged him as male from his suit and build. Now, in a dress, it was impossible to tell.
“Danan.”
“What?”
“Does it suit me?”
“Don’t care. We done? Let’s go.”
“Yeah… you’re that type. Hold on.”
Undoing and retying Danan’s tie, Gloria exuded shampoo and soap scents.
“Gotta look the part, right, Danan?”
“Do what you want.”
Glaring at the strikingly beautiful Gloria, Danan opened the changing room door.
