Paper bills rustle so loud, pockets are overflowing and your heels slip on them like they are banana peels. The Kit Kat club is exclusive only for the richest of folks in Berlin who are desperate for nice entertainment.

You stand by the backstage, studying tonight's customers with a frown on your face. Lately, many unpleasantly looking people have started showing up, which keeps you upset every evening. The audience plays the biggest part, and you don't like their overestimated value.

"Ting-a-ling!"

A hand shows up in your field of vision, pretending to ring an imaginary bell. Emcee jumps up from behind you, the signature smile on his face. He's been busy the whole evening, barely able to share a word with you. Sadly, now is not the time for a chit-chat.

"Someone is in need of a companion."

His finger is pointed at a gentleman in the audience, the one who has requested your presence. Seeing your unwillingness to approach him, he chuckles and slaps your bum lightly.

"So, off you go, Schatzi. You know money makes the world go 'round."

So, with a perfected smile, you approach the man. Upon being pulled onto his lap, your confidence evaporates; there is a red bandage with a familiar four-way hook wrapped around his arm. Not a good sign.

Entertaining the gentleman in fakely sweet manner, you desperately seek for someone's familiar face in the crowd, preferably Emcee's, all while the man's fat hands roam over your whole body. Luckily, you eventually spot him and thankfuly, he spots you too. And knowing you well enough, he is able to read the distress from your face.

Emcee doesn't play about his girls; he won't let you stay in that nationalist pig's presence for any longer. In his usual cheerful manner, he strides towards the two of you, greeting you with a bow.

"Excuse me, monsieur, I apologise deeply for ruining your fun. However, I am forced to steal my sweet girl from you. You see, she needs to prepare for her next performance."