It’s a cold fucking night. But I can’t feel a thing. Don’t ask me why.
It’s a big fucking city. But I don’t know where I am. Staring at my reflection in the gas station’s putrid restroom’s mirror, I can barely recognize the haggard visage staring back at me. My hair is caked to my head with my own blood. My head is pounding with industrial rhythms I can’t place. My clothes are covered with dirt, soiled in my own blood. I’m missing several fingernails, but barely feel the pain. What the fuck happened to me?
I collapse to the floor, clutching at my guts. All I feel is hunger. When the pain subsides, I wash up as best I could, and leave the restroom in search of a diner. I find one a quarter mile down the road. The clock over the register reads 3:34am. Nothing but horny truckers and hungry hookers litter the less lit corners of this greasy spoon. I reach into my pocket and pull out a grimy ten dollar bill and toss it on the counter. “Give me the special, whatever it is, and make it quick please.” The waitress walks away at a snail’s pace and places my order.
Two hookers approach me then. One sits to my left, one to my right. The one on the left asks me if I was in a fight or something. She continues talking, but I can’t make out what she’s saying. The one on the right is on the rag, but God-fuck-me how I know that. My guts are on fire again, but this time, it’s backed with a level of arousal I cannot explain. I want the whore to my right. I pull out the remaining 60 dollars in my pocket, flash it to her, then make my way to the men’s room. Like the pro she is, she follows me under the impression she isn’t making it obvious. The giggles and snickers I hear following us tell me otherwise.
In the first shit-encrusted stall, I hand her the cash, sit her down on the toilet then go to town on her ragged bleeding cunt, face first, when all of a sudden I hear a gang of laughter behind me. I didn’t hear the door open. I didn’t hear the footsteps approaching me, nor did I hear them when they opened the door to the stall. All I heard was the beat of the whore’s heart.
I turn around to see three men (truckers?) and two women (whores?) laughing their heads off and pointing at me. The biggest of the truckers steps forward with a dirty shovel in his hand. He can see through my confusion at my growing rage.
He says, “Calm down, little brother. You’re one of us now.”
Confused, I turn back to the whore on the toilet, and she isn’t moving. Without checking her pulse, I know she’s dead. I don’t know how I know. The laughter starts again.
“Welcome to the Sabbat.”