Too Broke For Afterlife

????????????????????????

I knock against the door.

"Yes?" A voice yells from the other side. "Password?"

"Chorizo."

"I didn't hear you! Speak a bit louder!"

I roll my eyes and take a deep breath.

"Chorizo!" I scream.

At that moment, the entrance door behind me opens and I turn around to an older woman, looking at me in shock.

I don't blame her. I must look like a lunatic right now.

"Rice. Uhm...peppers. Onions." I continue talking to myself, trying to play it off.

The grandma still stares at me, probably thinking about calling the police.

Please no.

"What else do I need for a Paella?" I ask her. She just shakes her head and walks up the stairs.

Phew.

Once I hear her entering the practice somewhere above me, I knock against the door again.

"Can I come in now?"

That is when I hear a key turning and the door swings open.

It is quite dark inside and I can't make out anything so I step through. The door falls shut behind me.

Once my eyes get used to the new lightning I can see that I'm standing in...yet another hallway.

The music is loud and I can clearly hear people chatting and laughing.

The entrance to the actual club is covered with a curtain and above dangles a neon sign reading 'Club Huevos'. Still the most awful name.

I push the curtain to the side and look at a small bar with few people sitting on the stools. There are filled tables in the corners and a little dance floor. An arrow points to where the toilets are.

Everything - literally everything - is made of dark wood, giving me eye cancer. There are a few fairy lights taped to the ceiling and fake plants are catching all the dust. 

The music coming out of the speakers is pure Death Metal. Gross.

"Want something?"

A waitress looks me up and down.

"Yeah, I'm looking for Clemens. He works here."

"Never heard that name. Do you want to eat?" She slaps a menu into my hands.

Apparently, customer service is irrelevant in San Andy. Compared to this chick and the guy at the reception, sand globe guy was a marketing genius.

I check the menu. It's merely a piece of paper somebody scribbled onto.

'Loaded Fries with jalapenos and cheese.'

"That's all you guys have?" I look at the waitress.

"This is a bar, not a restaurant. If you want oysters with caviar, go to your noble Italian down the road."

She rips the menu out of my hands and strides away. 

I told you. There are no sane women left.

But jokes aside, now I am facing another problem. She didn't know Clemens. 

Was Kennedy lying to me? Did she send me on an endless scavenger hunt? Because that's exactly what this feels like.

Or maybe I need to do the quest that the guy had told me about. What was it again? Smuggling weed to the port? Is that where Clemens is hiding?

I walk through the club a bit and take a look at the people. Most here seem to be NPCs but there are two men sitting at a table, who stand out with their glowing bodies.

The slightly translucent skin is surrounded by dark purple. Now what does that mean?

Before they can notice me staring I turn away and walk over to the bar. I try to find a good seat but those that are still free are mostly dirty. Spilled beer and peanut shells.

I am forced to sit down next to another glowing person inside a fur suit.

Whoopie.

They seem surprised and turn around. 

"Hello."

"Hi."

I stare into the face of a human-sized beaver plushie. 

Please don't let this be the guy who leads me to the quest.

"What's up with the costume? Is it Halloween again?"

"Halloween?" The man sounds hurt. "I'm a furry."

"Ah. That's so much better." My voice is dripping with sarcasm as I turn back, looking for a bartender. 

"Why do people have such problems with furries?"

"Sexualizing animals is pretty weird in my opinion."

"It's not sexual! Listen."

Oh boy. I shouldn't have said anything. I realize my mistake way too late because the man can no longer be stopped.

"Don't generalize furries, not all of us support beastiality. It's merely another persona you put on to escape your own life. I used to be a pastor, you see. I'm a child of God. But now I'm stuck inside this fur suit and can't get out."

He sounds really upset and like he is about to start crying. 

"A pastor?"

"Yes! I dedicated my entire life to our lord and savior but Saturday nights were reserved for furry conventions."

Oh my god, I have to change the topic as quickly as possible. I don't know how much longer I can take this.

"Why are you all glowy and purple?"

"What?" The beaver man looks down at himself. 

"Are you new in Heaven?" he asks me.

"Yes."

"I see. I am glowing because I am a soul. I'm semi-solid. You're not glowing because you're inside an Afterlife body."

"So...dead people that make it to Heaven right away are glowy souls and those who don't are still in their Afterlife bodies?"

"Precisely. When you meet a glowing soul like me, they are most likely good. Souls like you are tainted."

"Thanks." I roll my eyes. 

This means the sand globe guy and the receptionist had to work for KP like me. Whereas this furry pastor is a model of a human being? 

Does that make sense to you?

"Would you like something to drink?"

I flinch and look up at Clemens, standing behind the bar. 

He is wearing a simple tshirt and a black apron around his waist.

"Dude, where did you-"

"May I suggest a Screwdriver? This alcoholic beverage will serve as a good tool to forget the dreadful existence and the meaninglessness of perpetual impermanence."

I look at him confused, not understanding a single word.

Clemens sighs. "Vodka and orange juice."

"Oh! No, thanks. Just a Dr. Popper please."

"Very well then."

I watch Clemens as he opens a mini fridge beneath the bar and pulls out a can.

He pours the black liquid into a tall glass, adds ice and a lemon slice.

Together with a napkin, he puts it down in front of me.

"Enjoy. And you, Sir?"

He takes the beaver's empty glass.

"Screwdriver sounds good. But make it more vodka and less orange, please."

Once Clemens is done with that drink as well, I lean forward. "Dude, what is going on here?"

"We will talk later," he mumbles and then walks over to other guests.

I take a sip from my soda as I watch him.

"This guy makes the best drinks in all of San Andy. I come here almost every night."

I stare at the pastor. Since when do I have a I-love-smalltalk-face? I've trained for years to scare away others with just one glance but lately that doesn't seem to be working.

I'm somehow pulling in weirdos, like a malfunctioning magnet.

"Especially his Long Island Ice Teas. An explosion of flavors."

"You're telling me you can taste shit?"

The beaver stops, I must have ripped him out of the role playing. He sighs and turns away.

"You're such a killjoy," he whines. 

"Thank you. Means a lot."

Hopefully, this will shut him up. I really can't be arsed.

But silence doesn't last for long.

"Boss," I hear someone say. "There are people at the door."

Before the boss can, a group of men storms into the bar. Each of them is carrying a weapon.

"ONTO THE GROUND!"

A shot is being fired into the ceiling and everyone starts screaming, including the holy beaver.

Okay, the reception guy had not mentioned a razzia being part of the quest. 

I jump off my stool but before I can run away and hide, somebody has grabbed my arm and starts pulling me behind the bar.

Luckily it's just Clemens.

He forces me down onto my knees.

Another shot echoes through the club but now I can't see what's going on anymore. All I'm staring at are glasses and bottles.

"Parker Jones, GET HERE NOW!"

F*ck.

That's me. 

"How do they know your name?" Clemens hisses as he starts fiddling with what I assume is a trap door.

"I don't know," I grunt back. "Who are they?"

"Not your friends."

Clemens is pulling out a key and shoves it into the small lock.

The guests are still screaming as the men seem to move forward.

"Oh Parker," one of them purrs. "Where are you hiding? Come out and play!"

Yeah, I f*cking won't.

The man's voice sounds very close now. 

"I promise I won't bite."

I stare at Clemens with pleading eyes. All they have to do is lean over the bar and send a bullet through my head. What will happen then?

No second too late, my friend has opened the trap door.

I stare into a black hole with a silver ladder leading into the dark.

"Go, go, go," he whispers and before I can chicken out, I swing myself into the hole. Not like I have any other choice.

The metal is cold and slippery and I have a hard time holding onto it. But I can't stop, I have to keep moving.

Soon, the dark engulfs me whole.

"I'll see you outside," is the last thing I hear before the door closes above me.