"Argh, my head," Micheal groaned, his head ringing in pain.
He tried to rub his head, maybe to lessen the pain a bit, yet he couldn't move his arm.
It felt heavy.
"Huh?" He opened his eyes, gaze falling on a naked woman lying on his arm.
On her skin were neon tattoos glowing under the dim pink luminance of the room.
"Ahhh!" Panicking, he quickly jumped back in fright, only to notice two more sleeping next to him — two on both sides, the last one between his legs.
"What's going on?"
He couldn't move; though the girls were asleep, they had locked him in place with their body weight, and it didn't seem they were going to wake anytime soon.
Several empty bottles of alcohol lay sprawled on the floor, used needles on the desk beside him, dripping with an intoxicatingly sweet-smelling liquid.
" Where am I "
Confused , he scanned his surroundings, finding the place foreign.
This wasn't the room he had slept in, and he didn't know any of these people.
" Why are they naked..."
He felt the breeze around his crotch.
"Why am I also naked? Argh—" The world spun, a sharp electric sting racing from his neck into his skull.
Anyone who had ever drunk before knew the sensation — a hangover.
Not that Micheal was aware of it, never once touching alcohol in all 19 years of life.
"I need water…" A strong thirst overrode his senses. Eyes darting around for water, yet there was none — only more bottles of wine and other unknown substances, probably drugs.
Compelled by his seemingly insatiable thirst, he slowly released himself from the three-way lock and ran toward the nearest bathroom.
There he found another woman lying in a pool of her own vomit, her steady breathing proof she was still alive.
Micheal was momentarily stunned, but his thirst overshadowed any form of fear or discomfort.
He quickly opened the tap — not even taking a glass — and drank directly from it, taking in hungry gulps, breath seized.
He would occasionally take deep breaths and continue drinking, like a desert drinking rain — the thirst felt as if it could never be quenched.
...
"Haaa… haaa… haaa…"
After a couple of minutes, he let the water run, taking in deep breaths, finally quenched of his thirst.
His head continued to ring, but not as badly as when he had awoken.
"What is going on?" He sat on the toilet bowl, scanning his environment.
Numerous neon-lit graffiti decorated the bathroom, the nauseating smell unmistakable — a mix of semen and something else.
"How did I end up here?" He grabbed his head, not in pain but in shame.
One needed not to be Einstein to understand what had happened.
He was in District R — a red-light district that sold physical contact instead of the usual virtual sexual connection.
They were common in the back alleys, and he had seen them several times, always gulping at the sight of the enticing women, but never once dreamed his virgin self would ever end up here.
But now…
"Did I sleep with all of these people?" He searched his memories, his headache intensifying.
He could only catch glimpses of what transpired.
He couldn't remember anything as vividly as he would have preferred.
"My auto-record…" He remembered one of the functions of his neuro implant — something he got after the Ironbeard incident.
A function that recorded everything he saw and heard.
He was sure, if he'd had it a few days back, it would have saved him a lot of trouble.
He had thus purchased the functionality right after receiving his reward.
He browsed the file memory of last night — clear scenes of the events that had transpired played before him.
In his memories, he had awoken from bed almost as soon as he'd lain on it,
He sat atop it, searching the Internet for the nearest District R.
And eventually finding himself here.
Driven by lust and debauchery, he flaunted his newfound wealth, engaging in sexual intercourse with numerous females — from full humans to sex cyborgs equipped with cyberware to enhance the experience.
He drank, partied, and f*cked like a pro.
"Huh?" He paused the video, his expression one of horror.
When was he ever like this?
The actions didn't seem like his own — it felt like he had become a different person, yet he was still conscious.
He was himself, yet not himself, as he could feel every action was his own but driven by a different force.
A very strange feeling.
"What's going on? How did… When did I…" He replayed it over and over; each time it gave him the same sensation.
He, who knew nothing of sex, nothing of debauchery, seemed like the king of it.
He could feel the ecstasy in every moment, and even now, his eyes were ablaze with lust as he stared at the naked, chrome-skinned woman on the ground.
"What's happening…" He averted his gaze, frightened by his own thoughts.
This wasn't him.
This wasn't a case of money changing a person — this wasn't him at all.
A fish in a water tank introduced to the sea wouldn't learn to fly.
That wouldn't even make sense.
"Ironbeard…" His eyes lit up as a thought came to mind.
He remembered the cyberspace — the red, towering lines of code.
The bugged transfer that had been moving Ironbeard's very being into his own.
He had the habits of the cyberpunk.
"This has to be the damn transfer… I need to get him out of my head." He rose to his feet.
Though the life of debauchery felt exhilarating, it was hurting his wallet.
In just one night, he had spent about 10,000 units — an amount he would have worshiped a few days ago — gone in one night.
"What's that…" He looked at his reflection — several neon tattoos covered his body, chaotic like the doodles of a toddler.
"Argh!" He gnashed his teeth in frustration, staring at the ugly inscriptions all over his skin.
This wasn't in his memory, which meant someone had done them while he was asleep.
"I need to get out of here now." He found his clothes, put them on, and quickly left the room, heading down toward the lobby.
This was T. Hill City — all of it's buildings towers, including places like District R.
Despite its seemingly shady business, it was still a hill, hidden behind two mountains—towering buildings that provided coverage from the outside world.
He reached the lobby — a strip club.
Several people were chatting around, enjoying a drink or two, flirting with the strippers around.
Quietly, he averted his gaze, teeth gritted as he forced down the lust bubbling in his chest.
Head drooped, he tried to slip out silently.
"Hey, aint that our VIP?"