The Shadow Realm, to most people it's the most exclusive
nightclub in the city. A place where celebrities come to rubs shoulders with
the local big shots. Some of the world’s biggest celebrities haven’t been able
to cross through these doors. But here’s the thing, there’s a little secret to
getting in, well actually two. The first is the same as always, you just have
to know the right person. The second is to be licensed.
The reason being is because The Shadow Realm is a club is
billed as a club for the dark arts for those in the know. Inside, it really is
an incredible night club. But, down below, there’s miles of tunnels. Different
stores offering outlawed ingredients, curses for cheap, sacrifices for ceremony
and tomes of terror. Everything evil in the world of magic is down here as far
as I know. I’ve only been here twice in the past, and each time I didn’t find
anything worth note. Third time is the charm tonight. I hand the bouncer my
expired card, and he doesn’t question it. You have to keep up with jobs,
doesn’t matter if you’re writing reports or turning in bodies otherwise your
license expires. However, outside of the Syndicate, most people consider you
registered forever once you’ve been registered. If anything, the expired
license helps me get in, because an active one means I might be hunting
someone.
Inside the DJ is blasting classic Chicago House Music mixed
with some Elven chanting. I can’t pick out the dialect but history tells me
it’s from Dark Elves. History of Black Americans and Dark Elves is essentially
linked, even before the arrival here in America. We were enslaved, they were
enslaved, our homelands were destroyed, as were theirs and so on and so on.
When you go through the same circumstances, a bond forms, it is what is. The
dance floor is the only place consistently lit, a mix of different dance styles
from around the world. Every now and then a blue strobe light flashes through
lighting the dark room. The place is far from drug free. Almost reminds me of
the stories from Studio 54. I watch a Orc snort cocaine from the chest of a
young Goblin boy before aggressively kissing a Wood Elf woman while groping
them both.
Plenty of people are drinking, but this is the home of drugs
regular and irregular. I move through slowly watching a human inhaling various
fumes from a small wooden tube as several Wood Elves laugh. Whatever he’s
taking is natural, won’t harm him. Wood Elves don’t do any drugs that aren’t
natural, doesn’t agree with their biology. But, it isn’t for human consumption
either, he’s going to be higher than giraffe genitals before the end of the
night especially if he doesn’t slow down. The most popular drug here, Fairy
Dust.
Fairy Dust is a disgusting drug, at least in my eyes. But,
it’s cheap and easy to produce. The process is simple, get a fairy, strip the
flesh from their bodies, dehydrate it, grind it down. The reason it’s so cheap
isn’t because of an abundance of fairies, it’s because the skin grows back
rather quickly. Killing a fairy is easy, but they have outstanding healing
factors as well. The fairies often sell the flesh themselves, it’s no different
than a human selling plasma. The drug is popular, like a high-powered cocaine
with more medical uses. Can’t say I ever tried, but I’m not eager to shove
particles of fairy up my nose either.
I make my way to the bar and order a Jack and coke. Not the
classiest drink for a lady, but I’m not the classiest of ladies. I make small
talk at the bar, trying to get reoriented with the way things are going in the
world. Apparently, some Adze vampire is pissing off one of the Primeval
families. I love it, I wish nothing but the best for her. While Dark Elves
share history with Black Americans for the last two hundred or so years, Adze
are Black Americans. Vampires birthed in blood and magic is what they say, one
thing is for certain, it was to murder their slave masters. Some Primeval
Vampires were slave owners, as far as I’m concerned this is revenge well
served.
I’ve spent enough time blending in. The real reason I’m here
is because the guy at the shop kept telling me I could see how dangerous a
resurrection is. I’m not worried about danger, push come to shove, I can still
handle myself. Instead I’m after whoever is performing the resurrections. I’ve
got money saved up, I can at least make a down payment if they’re willing to
take payment. If not, I’m sure there are other ways to get them to do the job.
“Another Jack and coke,” the bartender asks.
“Yeah,” he wanders off to mix the drank for me.
“Anything else for you? Fried jellyfish is good tonight,” he
offers.
“I’ll pass, but I do need something else from you.”
“Anything you need,” he smiles and I notice his teeth. Even
if he isn’t transformed, he’s a were…something. I wouldn’t call him a wolf, but
maybe some kind of rodent.
“I heard someone is doing a resurrection downstairs, I want
to watch.”
“No you don’t. The things that go on down there aren’t good.
I mean, none of this place is good, but it pays well. Down there, is dark, you
can feel it in the air when you walk through. Leave it alone,” he pleads with
me.
“I’m getting really tired of men telling me what to do
lately, so just tell me where I need to go. Otherwise, I’m going to head
downstairs and fuck up everything, then when they ask why, I’ll give them your
name….Todd,” I stare at him as he takes a few big gulps of air.
“Fine, head downstairs, take the first left, all the way to
the end room 920,” he gives up the information.
“Thanks, you’ve been great,” here’s a tip, a slide a five
dollar bill into his hand.
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