Farrah peeled herself from the sweaty flesh beneath her, the client—short, fat, ugly—a man who paid extra just to pretend someone wanted him. His coins, a familiar, sickening music, clinked into her purse with each grunt and thrust. Three years she'd danced to this tune, her body mere inventory, like the whiskey and tobacco at Murphy's general store.
"You were so good to me, Farrah," the fat man wheezed, rolling off her like a beached whale.
Farrah's muscles screamed in protest as she rose, but her face remained a porcelain mask. Can't even fake a smile anymore. "Yeah, you really rocked my world tonight." The words dripped from her lips like honey laced with arsenic as she slithered from the bed, snatching a towel.
The fat man's belly jiggled with each chuckle, his glazed eyes tracking her movements while he fumbled for his pants. "Mmm, maybe if you liked it so much I could have a quick freebie~?"
Her eyes glinted like sharpened steel. "Well, aren't you the charmer." She caught the gold coin he tossed with practiced ease, tucking it between her breasts with a theatrical wink. "You're a real sport, darling. Next time it'll be on the house, but I really have to get back home to my son."
The performance cracked. Her voice dropped its sugary coating, revealing something raw underneath.
The fat man's smile died. His hands froze on his belt buckle. "You... you got a kid?"
She nodded, mist gathering in her eyes like storm clouds. "Yeah, a twelve-year-old boy. He's all I got."
"You do all this... for him?"
"Pretty much, it pays the bills." And keeps food in his belly and clothes on his back. "But I'd give anything to get him out of this shithole."
When she looked up, the room was empty. Typical. Ask one real question and they run like roaches when the lights come on. The anger flared and died just as quickly, replaced by familiar relief. I don't need his pity. Just his coin.
Silence pressed against the walls, broken only by the distant soundtrack of moaning and grunting from neighboring rooms. The candle had burned to a stub, its dying light casting dancing shadows across the floorboards.
The shower's warm embrace washed away more than sweat and grime; it carried the memory of panting breath and forced enthusiasm down the drain. The bathroom tiles, cracked and stained like broken teeth, formed her only sanctuary. Steam rose around her as she scrubbed, her thoughts drifting to T'Jadaka. How does someone without magic survive in this world? Hell, how does he thrive? His strength drew her like a moth to flame, awakening something she'd buried deep.
Urbano waited outside her door like a vulture, his eyes sweeping over her with the same interest he'd show spoiled meat. "You've got a new client, Farrah. High-roller, so make sure to give him what he wants." The silver coin caught the light as he tossed it, his grin suggesting more than simple payment.
The coin sailed back to him in a perfect arc. "Can't. I'm going home to spend time with my son."
His knuckles whitened around his cane. "You think you can just walk out on me? He wants a Viltrumlight so he can bust some nuts without worrying about STDs or pregnancy!"
"Then reschedule. Tonight I'm going home." Steel entered her voice, surprising them both.
"No, no, no." His words slithered through the stale air like a serpent. "See, I can let you slide on denying some random tom, but there's no denying a 200 gold coin client. Now be a good hoe and get me my motherfucking money!"
Her chin lifted, eyes unwavering. "I said no. Or should I break your nose again?"
Urbano's smile twitched, his hand covering his nose while staring at her metal arm. Fear's the only currency that matters here, and I'm not afraid to spend it.
"You don't get it—the overlord of Zhumo district sent him personally. Every brothel owner is required to keep his hoes in check. If he finds out I don't have you in check, he'll replace me with someone worse than me."
Always comes back to control. Rage bubbled in her chest, years of being treated like meat finally reaching a boiling point.
"Look, just... I'll give you half if you take him, okay? I'm shitty, yes, but are you really gonna doom every woman here with a more cold-blooded owner?"
One hundred gold coins glittered in his trembling palm. Enough to pay her debt. Enough to free her son from these slums. Enough to start over.
Freedom has a price. Always does.
"Fine... But then I'm quitting."
Urbano's eyes bulged. "Oh yes! Thanks so much, Farrah!" His voice dripped artificial sweetness. "Just for that, you can keep all the gold you made today."
The kitchen bustled with choreographed chaos, cooks and servers moving in their nightly dance. Roasting meat and sizzling spices painted the air with mouth-watering aromas. Branson, the burly dwarf chef, looked up from his chopping board and nodded.
"What'll it be, love?"
"Something quick and simple but filling." She couldn't meet his eyes, focusing on the worn floorboards instead.
A wrapped sandwich appeared—roast pork and potatoes, the warmth seeping through paper into her cold hands.
"Something on your mind, Farrah?"
"I have to sleep with another guy before I can go home. It's fucking annoying." The words barely escaped her lips, swallowed by clanging pots and sizzling oil.
Branson's knife stilled. "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. Who's he making you work with tonight?"
"Some rich asshole." The sandwich turned to ash in her mouth. "Someone important, apparently. I'm just tired of it all, Branson."
Worry creased his weathered features. "Oh no... I know who that is, and you're in some trouble." He leaned closer, voice dropping to a whisper. "His name is Tarben Dezideriu—CEO of a company in the central continent. But he's a necrophiliac who enjoys the company of... well, not living things."
"What the fuck!? Then why does Urbano want me to sleep with him if he likes dead fucking bodies!?" The sandwich crumpled in her grip.
"That's the thing—he likes them... fresh. Normally all owners would fight to keep their hoes safe because they bring in all their money. But since Tarben's a VIP, the overlord lets him do whatever he wants because he pays so well."
The kitchen spun around her. Not living things. Fresh.
"Remember your friend Bella?"
Horror crept up her spine like ice water. Bella had vanished one night, leaving only blood and terror in her wake.
"He... told me she OD'd on some pills..."
"No... Tarben killed her and then had sex with her body."
The sandwich hit the floor as her world shattered. Bella. Sweet, laughing Bella who gave my son his name. Who taught me to believe in myself. Who was going to be his godmother.
Meanwhile, Urbano counted money in his office, smugness radiating from his hunched form. Months of planning had led to this moment—cashing in on Farrah's popularity and newfound defiance. The deal with Tarben would make him the richest pimp in the city. He'd even cleared out the building so no one would hear anything.
The door exploded inward, wood splintering like bones.
Farrah stood in the wreckage, her eyes burning with hellfire. "You... fucking piece of shit."
Urbano's hand darted toward his desk drawer, but Farrah was faster. The desk catapulted through the window, crashing onto the street below.
"Oh, fuck me!" Urbano scrambled backward as she advanced, her knuckles cracking with contained violence.
"Wait! Farrah, look, okay... I know you most likely found out—"
Her real hand seized his throat, cutting off his pathetic plea, while her robotic arm cocked back, ready to deliver judgment.
"You think I want to hear you beg for your miserable life? You got my only friend in this shithole killed, and her body defiled." Her grip tightened like a vice, the rage that had been simmering for years finally boiling over.
"She gave my son his name while I was pregnant. She taught me to believe in myself." Her voice dropped to a growl, a dangerous rumble from deep within her chest. "She was going to be his godmother... And you sold her to that monster for gold!?"
"That's why..." Urbano gasped, eyes bulging, struggling for air. "That's why I wanted you to deal with him... To take him out..."
A ploy? Twisted redemption? Or just trying to save his worthless skin?
"Talk." Her robotic arm relaxed slightly, a silent promise of more pain if he failed to deliver.
"Look, Farrah, Tarben is rich... But his money isn't worth it long term." He coughed, massaging his throat, still red from her grasp. "Bella was my number one money maker here... She was genuinely sweet and loving, and the toms adored her. When that bastard took her, it killed most of my money flow."
"Then why did you give her to him!?" The question was a low snarl.
"It was my first time seeing him! The boss told me he was a golden goose—give him what he wants! That's all I knew. I need you to kill him because I can't have him scaring all my hoes!"
The rage crystallized into something colder, more calculated. "If I do this, you owe me more than gold."
"He gave me 10k gold. I'll give you half just to get this piece of shit out of here."
She released him, red marks blooming on his throat like grotesque flowers. "If I kill him, the overlord won't send any more VIPs here."
"True, but I need all my hoes. And that piece of shit needs to go—nobody kills my bottom bitch and gets away with it."
For Bella. For every girl you've fed to that monster.
"Alright, I'll do it. But not for you or your gold. I'll do it for Bella, and for every other girl you've sent to that monster."
Her footsteps echoed through empty hallways, each one heavier than the last. The plan forming in her mind was terrible and dangerous, but it was her plan. Time to get my son out of here. Time to make that bastard pay. The urge to kill someone—really kill someone—awakened in her chest like a sleeping dragon.
The front door's bell tinkled, shattering her dark reverie. Tarben Dezideriu wasn't what she'd expected. Tall and slender with a neatly trimmed beard and piercing blue eyes that seemed to dissect her soul. His suit cost more than she'd make in a year, cybernetic limbs hidden beneath expensive fabric. His smile was winter personified—cold and perfect.
"Tarben! Old friend!" Urbano's voice dripped forced cheer as he descended the stairs.
Look at him. Pristine. Untouchable. We'll see about that.
"It's good to be back. The last time I was here was fun." His voice slithered across her skin like a blade, eyes sliding over her with predatory interest.
Urbano shoved her forward. "Tarben, this is our lovely Viltrumlight Farrah. The woman you requested."
Cold fingers traced her curves, and bile rose in her throat. She kept her expression neutral while rage screamed beneath the surface. "Your reputation precedes you, my dear," he breathed against her ear. "I've heard your touch is like a warm summer breeze before a storm."
"Yes, it is. Who knows? All I know is that you might not leave with me around~" Sweet poison dripped from her voice while her robotic arm shifted slightly, hidden blade poised.
"How about I take you to my room then?" Her heart hammered against her ribs as she played the eager whore, keeping him off-guard.
His eyes lit up like a child's on Christmas morning. A bouncer led them to a plush suite—velvet curtains drawn, incense failing to mask the underlying scent of sweat and despair that clung to these walls like a second skin.
Farrah settled on the bed, but Tarben's grip suddenly tightened on her arm. His eyes were serpents—cold, calculating, hungry. She leaned closer, robotic thumb stroking his neck while feeling the tension coil in his body.
"Well, someone looks very happy to see me." Sweetness and sarcasm battled in her voice as she pressed slightly harder into his neck.
Without warning, his metal hands clamped around her throat, squeezing with crushing force. Her eyes widened—not from shock, but from the realization that he was weaker than expected. She let him push her down, his slender frame hiding surprising strength. Her robotic hand shot out, blade slicing through expensive fabric into flesh. He didn't flinch, his grin never wavering.
"Ohh, yes. I love seeing life fade from your eyes!" His grip tightened like a vice. "It's even better than Bella's eyes—they were filled with so much fear as she fought so badly to live."
Bella's terror. Her final moments. The anger reached nuclear levels.
"Aww, was that your friend? I can see the hate in your eyes, but don't worry. You'll be with her while I fuck your nice, barely warm body."
"I see. Well, I let you get your dick hard enough." Her voice remained calm despite the crushing pressure.
His eyes widened in shock. "What..?" He squeezed with every ounce of strength, but her face remained serene, staring deep into his soul. "I got these arms just to choke out a Viltrumlight with ease! How are they not working!?"
She grabbed his hair and produced the knife from beneath her pillow. "They would have worked if I was a weak Viltrumlight. But I'm not."
One swift motion opened his throat. Another severed every tendon in his body. He crashed to the floor, screams tearing from his ruined throat while cybernetic arms flailed uselessly.
She straddled him, spinning the knife while gazing down like a goddess of vengeance. "Aww~ Poor baby, look at you in so much pain. Does it hurt? Are you scared you're going to die?"
Blood muffled his screams—a symphony of suffering that brought twisted satisfaction. She leaned close, breath hot on his cheek. "Don't like playing the game when you're not winning? Must be hell, knowing you're going to drown in your own blood and nobody's going to save you."
Rage filled his eyes. He wants to call me a useless fucking slut, wants to threaten everyone I know. But blood filled his lungs, stealing his voice.
"Oh, you wanna say something?" she mocked. "Go ahead, I'm listening!"
His body convulsed in agony, warm liquid spreading across the floor like spilled wine.
"You know, I could have killed you with my robotic arm. But that would be too quick, too easy." She whispered close enough to kiss him. "I want you to feel the same pain Bella felt. I want you to suffer like she did."
She rose and walked toward the door. "Enjoy the sweet, sweet five minutes to bleed out. I didn't cut too deep, so it's gonna take a while. Bye~"
Can't believe I underestimated this whore I bought for a night of pleasure. His eyes blazed with disbelief and rage while paralysis claimed his body.
Urbano leaned against the doorframe as she emerged, extending a bag of coins without a word. "Here's your cut... Just make sure you hide somewhere. The overlord will be sending men after you for sure."
She took the bag without looking back.
He pulled out cigarettes with shaking hands, lighting one as smoke spiraled toward the ceiling. "Ahh... It's finally over. No more dealing with his ass."
In the backyard, a beautiful grave and memorial stone waited. He sat before it, ember light reflecting in his eyes.
"You were such a dumb hoe. Too nice to everyone—you'd feed everybody else before yourself, hell even me. You'd always fucking smile... no matter what, just to make everyone else smile too..." His voice cracked like breaking glass. "You didn't deserve what that monster did to you. Not one fucking bit."
Tears mixed with cigarette smoke as the truth crushed down on him. I failed her. Failed as a boss, as a person, as a human being.
The other girls embraced him, their sobs echoing in the quiet night. They'd lost a sister, a mother figure in their fucked-up lives. Bella had been their glue—bringing hope, teaching laughter even when the world shit on them.
Even while running home, Farrah cried. No time to mourn properly. Keep moving forward like always. But tonight made it so much harder.
At least Bella can rest now. And my son... my son will finally be free.