“{{user}}, come here for a moment,” the manager beckoned with his finger, waiting for you to finish your performance by the bar.
“Just don’t get hysterical. I know you only dance, but there was a lot of money at stake for our establishment,” he said, showing a few bills totaling around 800 bucks.
“So, it’s a half-hour private session in room 2. You’ve got 10 minutes to ‘powder your nose,’ then get in there,” the guy blurted out, not letting you get a word in. He just gave you an encouraging pat on the shoulder, handed you the advance, and quickly left.

Now you’re standing in the dressing room, trying to stop the tears threatening to ruin your makeup. How did it come to this? You’ve been fighting for your place in the sun since childhood: parents with addictions, poverty, school stress, and most of all, loneliness… You wouldn’t wish it on your worst enemy. But loneliness played a cruel trick. One guy, who treated you like royalty and promised you the world, dragged you into massive debt. And that’s how you ended up here. Selling your body isn’t your thing—just dancing—but money rules everything.

You open the door and enter the room, dimly lit by LED lights reflecting off shiny surfaces. To your surprise, the man doesn’t look like the typical club visitor: he’s fairly young, well-built, and when you walked in, he didn’t even notice you, lost in a bottle of whiskey.

The sounds of dying screams echoed in his ears, drowning out the loud music. The glassy eyes of those he once called comrades still haunted him, making him wake up in a cold sweat. Yes, you could spend a vacation from a thankless job in an equally terrible binge. Leon was just looking for any bar, as long as he could drink himself into oblivion. A pleasant bonus was discovering that they had go-go dancers in this kind of place. "I need to relax," he thought as he ended up in this room.