I could hear the club before I could see it. There was so much sub bass that I could feel it in my chest as we walked up to the entrance. I wonder if I could match this kind of loudness.

The real low frequencies were the hardest ones to get right, at least individually. I found it physically easier to produce a five kilohertz tone than a fifty hertz one, although managing many different mid and high range frequencies to adequately mimic arbitrary sounds was the hardest thing.

The name of the place was the Trash Pit, and I could see why. It was a big, square, concrete building with rusted steel bars covering windows that looked like they would have been close to opaque even before being painted over.

The inside was better decorated, but in a way that was intended to play up the faux underground, warehouse rave vibe. The floor and walls had been kept bare and all of the light came exclusively from 'V' part of the large amount of AV equipment.

Ah, blacklights. Classic. I could have guessed there were a lot of those even if my eyes had been closed, because stepping inside felt like walking into sunlight, just less hot.

Wait, what? My mind snagged on something. Since when can I feel the composition of light like that? Sure, it had always been possible to feel sunlight, much as you could tell when a heat lamp was pointed at you—but I was pretty sure sunlight was mostly just warm.

Is this an Anathema thing? A me specifically thing? I would have to look it up later to be sure that I wasn't tricking myself into freaking at something that was a normal human experience.

Regardless, with all the colored lights, lasers, blacklights, and glow in the dark shit—there was even glowing graffiti—it kind of looked like a giant unicorn had vomited and sharted itself to death in the middle of a gnome village in an enchanted forest.

The night was just starting but the place was already filled with a decently large crowd. After a few seconds, I realized that we hadn't gone through the public entrance. Right, we're literally the proprietors. Or the employees of the proprietors. Or something.

I was tempted to slither over to the bar area, but Cassandra was not subtle in dragging me along the wall towards a staircase leading to the upper level.

It looked like there were at least three distinct levels—the main ground floor, some kind of basement area, and an upper balcony level that covered about half of the ground floor below it and left the remaining half open.

Two of the bosses were up there—I tasted them when I flicked my tongue out. There were also some other heavy hitters present—I guess I count as one of those?

Dr. DeVille was also present, although it seemed like he was on the basement level. Interestingly, he was hardly the only person caring the characteristic flavor of artificial esoteric augmentations.

I wondered how many of the people present were in the know. Overall, it seemed like a mostly legitimate place that was also used for—actually, I wasn't really sure what. Also, 'legitimate' might not be the best way to put it.

It seemed like the sort of place that was running on many different levels of normal criminality, esoteric criminality, pseudo-criminal drug use, straight up partying, straight up probably illegal partying, sex, weird, informal deals—so basically, it was Club Purple again, only with an underground, bad side of town dressing instead of a high class, elite one.

My cane made a delightful little tapping noise as we ascended to the balcony level. Ooh, they have snacks? There was a big guy I didn't recognize munching on an enormous paper bucket of popcorn.

And—huh. He's an Anathema?

I assumed he was one of the 'cultists' that had allied with the Bouquet shortly before everything that had happened recently to me had, you know, happened. Ugh. Cassandra, you bitch, you said you were going to introduce me to them!

I'd already forgotten about that. Von Jackass was partially to blame. Ugh, still. I was sour, now that I'd been reminded that I was supposed to get to hang out with the other monsters.

The balcony level was calmer than the ground floor, with a greater proportion taken up by various seating arrangements. I spotted the two bosses present—Richard and Hans—at a screened off, semi-private area in one of the back corners.

It was where Cassandras was now leading me.

"Good evening, gentlemen," I announced as we walked up to their table. I also did a slight bow. Can't forget that I'm supposed to be working for them. It wouldn't do to get too arrogant again, at least not yet.

Hans looked like he grunted, and Richard gave me a subtle nod. "I like the outfit," Hans said after a moment. "It's good for what it's trying to be."

"Really?" Richard asked, taking a closer look at me. "You don't think it's a bit…"

"Oh, I didn't say that." Hans laughed, a deep, rumbling sound. "I wouldn't wear something like that, but it's clearly intentional. She knows what she's doing with it, and I think it works in a setting like this."

"Ah." Richard nodded.

I blinked. Are they seriously just going to talk to each other about my apparel choices?

"Well," Cassandra interjected, "Unless you need her for anything, I think I'll show her around.

Both men waved us off. "I didn't think the bosses wanted you here for anything specific," Cassandra explained as she walked me back down the stairs, "so yeah, your job tonight is to just hang around, don't cause any trouble, and be available if you're needed for anything."

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Nice. "So basically, I'm here to be a really lazy but juiced up security guard?"

Cassandra laughed. "Kind of."

Okay… I shrugged. If all they were asking was that I spend the night hanging around, that wasn't too bad. Actually, it was basically the ideal job, and I was getting paid a lot for it.

Technically, I didn't have any official salary or wages, or even unofficial ones. Instead, all of my basic needs were covered—via Cassandra, mostly—and then there were kind of arbitrary bonuses.

I hadn't actually gotten one of those yet, but I was supposed to by the end of the week. If I didn't get a reasonable amount of cash, or gold, or something, I was absolutely going to make a fuss. I could tolerate being under the thumb of the organization for a bit, but only if they treated me fairly and didn't try to scam me while I silently waited to backstab all of them.

There wasn't anything to show me on the ground floor that wasn't self-explanatory, so Cassandra led me down into the basement. It turned out to be where the real big Anathema dude two floors above had gotten his popcorn—while there was a bar on the ground floor, the basement was where most of the food and drink was.

Fucking pastries? Seriously? Who sells fucking—I studied the case—a fucking apple danish? Turnovers? Carrot muffins? Who the fuck sells cutesy bakery shit in the basement of a rave arena place?

There was also a popcorn machine, a cotton candy machine, a case of pretzels, various boxed candies—like seriously, is this a club or a carnival? I felt like I'd stumbled into a baseball stadium.

Oh hey, it's my favorite pervert. I immediately detached from Cassandra to go bother the medical malpractitioner. Or maybe it would be more accurate to think of it as flirting.

Hopping up onto the barstool next to him, I poked his whiskey glass with my claw. He was nursing an old fashioned and a big wad of pink and blue cotton candy—I couldn't decide whether I thought that was kind of cool or if it was just stupid looking.

"Hey." I poked the glass again. "You should buy me a donut. One with the white icing and sprinkles."

The doctor stared at me. "Why?"

"What do you mean, why?" I rose to my feet, aghast—but unfortunately, sliding off the stool had the opposite effect as intended. My legs hadn't been long enough to touch the ground, and now that I was standing, my head was lower than it had been when I was on the stool.

Irritation welled up inside, but I soldiered on. "Because I'm a pretty princess who deserves little treats when I ask?"

Jason snorted. "You might be pretty, but you're no princess."

My mouth dropped open. He dares! But really, I wasn't upset. On the contrary, my mood was rising. Consciously, I made sure to drop my face into a spoiled pout. "Well that's not very nice. And I thought you liked me."

A slow, thoughtful sip from his whiskey. "Mmm. I think that would be unprofessional."

It was my turn to snort. "I don't think they're going to give you back your medical license for being a good boy and not feeling up your favorite patient for any, hmm, abnormal growths." I leaned my back against the edge of the counter, spreading my arms and tilting my head back to expose my neck and chest all slut-like.

"Oh doctor doctor, I think I'm in need of an examination." After a mere second, I started snickering. It was too ridiculous, but that was fine. Acting silly about it didn't change the fact that I'd done it, and—well, I didn't actually have any desire for men to touch me, but there was a certain pleasure in acting like a bit of a tease.

Dr. DeVille just frowned. "Is this some sort of breast cancer joke? You can't get cancer. I think. If you can, it's going to be something weird that doesn't happen to normal animals. Did you know you're full of bizarre organo-metallic compounds? All of your tissue samples make acute heavy metal poisonings look like a joke. I bet the right kind of research chemist could get some good mileage out of the stuff knocking around inside of you."

I blinked. "Wait really?" I knew that even my human form wasn't normal anymore—after all, the first time I got a limb cut off it was obvious to see that my blood had all turned into some pale, coppery metal that was similar to but not quite the same as the Adamantite threads that wove across the surface of my metal exoskeleton.

But that's interesting—it wasn't surprising to hear that even my more biological-like flesh was now filled with unusual organometallic stuff, but I hadn't ever thought about it.

Jason nodded. "You have way more iron than usual, and not just in your blood." He paused. "You don't really have blood, which is also weird. But regardless, the parts that are properly organic have a frightening amount of silver, mercury, lead—a classic—copper, strontium, of all things, palladium, a bit more magnesium than you usually find, but nothing concerning, a bit of lithium, which would make more sense if you were taking psychiatric meds, platinum, and even a tiny amount of gold."

I blinked. Huh.

"It probably wouldn't be that much if you extracted all of it from your whole body, so you're not substantially denser than a normal person, but… if you were a normal person, you should already be dead a hundred times over from multiple different kinds of heavy metals. Most of it seems to be acting as either dissolved ions or as part of a larger molecule. Honestly, I think you might be toxic."

"Wait, what?" I frowned. "You mean like, literally toxic? Like my fleshy body is literally poisonous to normal people?"

"Yup."

After stuffing a big wad of cotton candy in his mouth, he chewed with a thoughtful expression. "Pretty deadly, too. But not the kind where you drop dead in thirty seconds, more the kind where a small dose causes an excruciating untreatable death six months later. Fortunately for everyone you've touched in the past few months, I don't think there's a serious risk from dry skin contact. I checked."

I shook my head, feeling shocked. "Damn. Like holy shit." I chuckled. "Well I couldn't help but notice the implication of bodily fluids there. Guess a condom isn't optional."

Jason winced. "Actually, that might not do anything. Some of those organomercury compounds can pass straight through rubber gloves. There have been cases of lethal poisoning from a single droplet on the back of a glove."

What. The. Fuck. I stared. "You're not shitting me right now?"

The doctor shook his head. "Nope."

I went to say something—but then froze. No, please don't—I flicked my tongue out, getting a good taste of the air. Fucking hell, what the fuck? First I find out that I'm literally toxic enough to fuck a guy into the grave, and then this happens?

I wasn't playing around now. I was angry. Sliding off the stool again, I grasped at the air with my claws. Seconds later, my enchanted, Adamantite weapon of future legend slammed into my armored fist.

"Wait, what's going on?"

I didn't slow down as I stomped towards the stairs leading back out of the basement, but I did decide to give Dr. DeVille an answer. "Intruders."

I didn't know what the fuck Katherine, Luna, and Maria were playing at, or why they'd brought fucking Surfer Dude, but I knew I wasn't happy about it.

But I didn't really want to confront them, so I would live up to being the scheming, toxic bitch I was at heart. I continued straight up the next flight of the stairs to the balcony level.

I was only one of the enforcers on duty, and it was the job of the bosses to call the shots—so why get myself into whatever mess their little gang had concocted when I could just sit back and play tattletale?

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