Loud, bumping bass assaulted the group as they entered the darkened club. Gyrating, strobing lights lit the area, passing over faceless figures bumping and grinding on the dance floor. Black light flooded the space, highlighting anything that would fluoresce.

Dough’s plaid suspenders glowed as he walked, the two women he’d met at the corner store hanging off each arm. They had obviously treated themselves as they wore low-hanging, revealing dresses that were definitely expensive and designer-made. The smells of their perfumes clashed but Dough kept his game face on as he glanced about the club, eyes glowing under the fluorescent lights. Of course, the club would still be packed, even on a weekday, the hottest Vegas clubs managed to get shit popping.

The rest of the group followed, their heads on a swivel as each member kept their eyes out for any possible danger.

“This way, gentlemen.” The manager of the club hurried ahead of them, beelining towards a set of stairs. The stairs led up to a secluded VIP section overlooking the dance floor.

Dough noticed an emergency exit on the far end of the stairs, nodding as he followed the manager. A waiter and two waitresses hurriedly set up couches and tables for the group.

“We want it closer to there, pop that bitch open for us.” Dough continued towards the emergency exit, lightly tugging the two women. Surprise shrouded their faces as they eyed out the club.

A waiter hurried forward and set up couches where he’d pointed, skillfully fading away as Dough and his two guests took their seats. The rest of the group joined, each with their companions for the night in tow.

The only one who didn’t look to be on edge was Known. The youngest member still had a lot to learn. Everyone else kept their eyes open, ears occupied with the thumping, bumping music.

As they all sat Dough pulled out his deck, shuffling it with a showman’s flourish. After each shuffle, he waved his hands over the deck and at one of the group members. The women were clueless about his past or superstitions. They watched, wide-eyed and confused, nervously chuckling as the odd ritual played out.

Two short coffee tables were pushed into the middle of the group as the manager approached.

“An--”

“Shh,” Nocks shushed the man. “Shut up til we done. Wait there.” He pointed at the emergency exit.

With a final shuffle Dough laid the deck in the middle of the table.

“Wh--” one of the women sitting with him began to speak up.

“Shut up!” Shine barked.

The woman, shocked by the sudden outburst, bit her tongue. The rest of the uninitiated took the cue and followed suit.

Eyes focused on the deck, Dough drew the first card. Wheel of Fortune reversed.

He clicked his tongue as the corner of his eye twitched in annoyance. The small hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as a tingle of goosebumps ran down his back.

He drew the second card. The Hermit reversed.

“Fuck.” he mumbled as a cold sweat lined his brow.

He drew the final card. Death, upright.

Hands shaking, he collected his cards and carefully tucked them away in his shirt pocket. Once they were properly stowed he stood and punched the coffee table, shattering it. The cacophony of broken, exploding glass barely registered over the loud music. Everyone in attendance covered their faces as glass bounced and sprayed.

Without any warning, Dough spun and kicked the emergency door open. The pulsating music rushed out and into the darkened hallway behind the door. No blaring alarms or flashing lights, just a quiet space sucking some of the cacophonous music out.

“Leave the bitches, we gotta dip!” He drew his gun and motioned for the manager to lead the way, not waiting for the rest of his group. His gut twisted and turned with the heavy, thumping electronic music that followed them. The thin walls of the hallway shook in time to the music, lights switching on as they pressed forward.

“W-what’s goin--”

“Fuck up and move. We gotta dip, keep talkin’ and I’ll shoot you,” Dough waved his gun at the man. Behind them the rest of his group fell in line, each one drawing their weapons. “Where this exit outta?”

“I-it wr-wraps around and goes down to the entrance.”

Dough spat. “Any other way out?”

“There’s another hallway th-that’ll take us out to the employee entrance.” As the manager mentioned it they hooked a left and a door sat propped open along the right side of the hallway. The manager hobbled forward, stammering under his breath.

“Th-this shoul--” Soft pitter-patter followed by a sickly snapping crunch interrupted him as the unfortunate manager’s head swiftly turned at an unnatural angle. Long, spindly fingers encircled the man’s head in its tentacled embrace. They released him before disappearing back into the hallway.

The manager crumpled, eyes looking back at Dough as the light in their, now useless, organs dimmed.

“Back!” Dough retreated, stopping his companions from turning the corner. A rush of adrenaline shot through him as he hopped back, gun still trained on the open doorway.

Without question the group stopped and gave him room, repositioning around the corner. Slicing the pie, Dough peeked. His breathing slowed as he crouched and leaned against the wall to steady himself.

Music continued to blare, sending tremors through his braced shoulder. Inhale through the nose, exhale through the mouth.

His vision blurred as the adrenaline raged, tunnel vision slowly narrowing his sight.

“Ei,” Shine nudged Dough’s shoulder. “Let’s go, Known said it’s good in the club.”

Dough shook his head, his vision widening once more. The manager lay on his stomach, head angled so that he was staring up at the top of the doorway. The motion sensor lights from the open doorway clicked off.

“Go,” Dough instructed. “I’ll be right behind yaw. Get the tall bitch back to my room.”

Dough heard Shine scoff as the tall man’s footsteps faded away.

With his free hand he pulled his cards out, shuffling them with one hand before cutting them. His legs began to burn from crouching, aching tremors subtly shaking his tailored slacks. Gun held in his left hand, he set his cards on the floor and drew the top card. Seven of swords, upright.

Dough ground his teeth as he stared at the ornately drawn card, mind connecting and interpreting. In his peripheral he noticed a shadow fall over the body of the dead manager. Tucking his cards away, he stood, sliding up against the wall to maintain his aim. The lights flickered before bursting with a loud pop, light fleeing from the hallway as Dough flinched. A large, hooded figure emerged from the darkened hallway. Its robe billowed eerily as its long, veiny feet peeked out from beneath its dark mantle, slapping the bare floor with its loud steps.

Dough took a shot.

BLAP!

“Fuck,” he spat as he took another step back, unable to take his eyes off of the figure. A shiver broke through the armor that all the adrenaline had provided as he watched a crusted flap of skin begin to rip itself apart, the loud, fleshy tearing filling his ears. The erratic melodies from the club died as all he could hear was the squishy, crusted ripping.

In the middle of the billowing figure's torso a large, fleshy eye split open with a painful tear. Scabbed skin flaked and fell from the large eye as its huge iris darted erratically before landing on Dough. Within the enormous iris were hundreds of smaller irises, all dilating at different speeds as they focused on him.

Dough’s gut dropped as old, forgotten dreams bubbled up. A headache sent a lance of white, hot light flying across his right eye as a migraine reared its ugly head. His eye throbbed painfully as a section of his vision was blocked off by a bright, white section that moved with his changing line of sight.

The figure stayed put, billowing silently as Dough broke line of sight.

Fighting the raging migraine, Dough stumbled back into the club. The flashing lights and pumping music did him no favors as he bumped into Shine’s large back.

Over the speakers, a voice spoke as the music died down.

“We of One Inc. are here to welcome the group from the Kalapu.”

Still reeling from the lights, Dough dove behind the nearest couch, lying flat on his stomach as Shine followed

Gunfire erupted as concrete and glass bounced and broke. The women who hadn’t reacted quick enough screamed as the projectiles ripped through them, blood mixing with the building dust from the penetrated walls. Bullets pelted the couches, tearing the expensive upholstery apart. The cacophony of gunshots joined the syncopated pitter-patter that blared from the speakers. Hurried footsteps and whimpering acted as an undercurrent to the wild, driving music and the varied cracking and thudding of supersonic gunfire.

The shorter woman he’d invited lay in the fetal position not far from him, holding her side as her eyes misted.

The boost of adrenaline from coming under attack helped push the pain of the migraine away, leaving the annoying bright box still in the corner of his vision. His long, top-knotted hair fell around his face and stuck to his forehead as he calmed his breathing.

Dough looked at the rest of the group. They had all reacted appropriately, laying flat and taking cover by the nearest couch. They all made eye contact and began communicating nonverbally as the bullets continued to pin them down.

Nocks slid the magazine out of his pistol then held up two fingers. The rest followed suit.

Moan had 3 magazines including the one currently loaded. Shine had 4 extras, excluding the ones loaded into both of his pistols. Known had 2 including the loaded one.

Dough held up one finger. Shine slid him a magazine as they double-checked their weapons.

The gunfire abruptly died down as the speakers popped noisily. A voice boomed out at them.

“We know you’re all still alive,” the voice was amused, it sounded like the person had a huge grin on their face. “I just wanted to say that I’m a big fan of yours. I’ve followed you guys for a long time.”

Dough began inching towards the edge of the couches, slicing the pie with his vision as he edged his way around to get a look at the speaker. Something about his voice sounded familiar. The taller woman was curled up near the edge with her eyes shut tight and palms pressed into her ears.

“Psst!” Dough hissed at the woman. “Psst!”

The voice continued to drone over the speakers. Something about previous battles and glorious times. Some bullshit that Dough definitely wouldn’t bother remembering.

The young woman opened her eyes and found his. “Come here, Ima get you out. You trust me?”

She shook her head.

Dough smiled, chuckling. “Good,” Crawling, he shimmied closer to her. “Never trust a dude. Especially not me.”

As soon as he was next to her, both still huddled behind the tattered couches, he moved quickly. With a scooping motion and much more strength than his lithe frame let on, he dug both arms under the woman’s curled form. As surprise crossed her face Dough dug the balls of his feet into the ground and lifted.

She let out a scream as he threw her towards the rail. With a loud, painful crack she collided with the flimsy barrier. It let out a prolonged shriek as it buckled under the force of the throw combined with the woman’s unexpected weight. For a moment she hung suspended in the air as the eyes of the attackers shifted to her.

Her scream filled the club in between the momentary silence of songs switching. Time slowed to a crawl as she began her fall, arms and legs flailing as her expensive dress ripped at the seams. Dough popped his head and gun out just enough to acquire a target and take aim. His vision blurred as he laid eyes on the man with the mic, bright spot obscuring everything to the right of his vision. The rest of the group followed suit. With practiced, precise movements, they leaned over their cover, set their sights, steadied their aim, and fired.

“Mark!” Nocks yelled as their shots rang out. Surprise, anger, confusion, and fear raced across the faces of the assailants. The bouncy music drowned out the synchronized shots.

The sound of a body noisily crashing onto the dance floor echoed just below the music as each of the members ducked back under their makeshift cover. The surviving assailants hastily took cover and returned fire.

Dough rolled and met eyes with the friend of the woman he’d thrown over. Her eyes were deep, dark pools of fear, choked tears slowly forming at the corners of her eyes. The men looked at one another as Dough flashed four fingers. They nodded.

The voice that had been speaking over the mic spoke up again, this time with more of an edge to it.

“That wasn’t very nice, throwing a pretty little thing like that as a distraction. Look, we just want you all to die, nice and easy. You should have gotten the message from the seer. Accept it. Your time is up you two-bit gang bangers.”

Another hail of gunfire bounced off the bullet-riddled wall. Dough grit his teeth as he turned his back to the couch and started pushing. The others did the same while Shine kept an eye on the stairs that led up to them.

The volley subsided as Dough’s couch reached the opening he’d made. He felt the couch shift and stopped pushing.

Rumbling rattled the platform as noisy steps recklessly ascended the stairway to the VIP platform, hard-bottomed shoes announcing their approach. Shine’s guns flared to life, two quick PAT-PAT’s and the opposite wall was painted with his latest masterpiece.

Dough pushed the couch over the broken railing, rolling up onto a knee as he scanned for the remainder of the assailants. He locked eyes with the noisy one, still holding the microphone with a stupefied look on his face as he, slowly, moved to duck behind the DJ booth.

With a calm swing of his upper body, Dough fired. The tiny bit of surprise that he always felt when he discharged his weapon flared up, blinking as the recoil was negated by his clasped hands. Tingling crept up his arms, the vibration from the plastic causing him to tighten his grip slightly.

The bullet cut through the air, flashing lights dancing around it as it traveled towards the surprised, dumb-faced mic man. As adrenaline coursed through his body, Dough felt like he was watching the unfolding action in slow motion. The bullet dropped slightly before it tore through the man's face. His nose imploded as the bullet ripped through, leaving behind a small entrance wound. Behind the DJ booth, a large red flower bloomed as the hollow point exploded out the bottom of the man’s skull, creating another gory masterpiece.

More shots rang out as the rest of the group descended on the remaining members.

With a short, rough exhale Dough turned and followed his group. Behind them, they left a quivering group of wide-eyed women, at least the ones who had been fast enough to avoid taking a bullet.

The music continued to blare, speakers still shaking and thumping. The group exited the club, music and lights still going.

Watching from the emergency exit, spindly fingers wrapped around the door frame as the torso-eye peeked out, the thing observed their retreat. It watched the battered group exit the club. The fleshy eye slowly closed before the figure melted into the sticky, ichorous floors of the iridescent club.