From outside, the place looked like one of the many ruins on Coruscant. A once grand structure was barely visible through the thick vines that wrapped around it and flowed out to the ground. A speeder of some sort was plunged nose first along the spire that stuck out from the vines, a warning to anyone who dared come closer.
If one looked closely, they could see the crude line that split the vines. If they walked through it they would find themselves in a dark tunnel, and beyond that, Siberia. Siberia was a club named for the speeder on the roof. It was a dark room with no windows and only one exit. A few boxes served as bathrooms. Girls in barely anything twisted on the ropes suspended from the ceiling. A round, elevated circle in the center was the bar.
The music throbbed through everything, wrapping around everyone in the club. The words were haunting, the melody barely distinguishable from the pounding bass. Bodies throbbed against each other, a medley of galactic scum. This place was not the kind of place one went to bet, drink with friends or have fun, this was the place you went to forget.
Waitresses weaved through the crowds, merging seamlessly and almost dancing themselves. They all wore the uniform: a tight, strapless silk dress cut to barely mid-thigh with thick-soled boots that reached over their knees. They would have looked like standard waitresses, if it wasn't for the masks.
They came in a variety of style and shapes, but each covered the entire face and most of the head and instead of eyes, each had one-way glass in it's eyes.
One waitress in a dark blue dress made her way over to the young man in the corner. His identity was concealed by the black hood pulled over his face. He looked like a kind of angle, sitting there so calmly in the middle of the chaos. To the waitress though, he was anything but calm.
Her sharp eyes picked up on the slightly noticeable tremors in his hands, the way his hood moved a fraction of an inch every few seconds, but the most noticeable factor was the sweat that beaded the back of his hands.
An addict.
She looked at him, making sure to tilt her head downward. He reached into his pocket and threw a few crumpled credits onto the table. She reached between her breasts and pulled out one of the plastic bags. She lay it on the table, keeping one finger on it while taking the money with the others. As soon as her finger pulled back he grabbed the packet and stood up, walking away. The waitress smiled and walked away.
The young man fled the club to the bathroom. His finger shook as he slammed the door shut. He opened the packet, pulling away the plastic to reveal the shiny silver powder that flickered in the light, taunting him. Tilting his head back, he held his eye open with one hand and shook some of the powder into it. His eye burned for a moment, then stopped and all he was left with was the euphoric feeling.
Her fingertips slipped up and down the smooth surface, caressing the droplets that leaked down and collected on her palm every time she pulled away in time with the music. Not changing her delicate motions, her hand locked around the bottle and brought it to her ruby lips.
It slid down her throat icy cool leaving a burning trail, like Spice Liquor should. She watched the young man flee for the rest room, his eyes wild and shook her head, her brown hair swishing down her bare back. He was an amateur and for a moment, she pitied him. Then pushing back her chair she stood up. A few eyes turned to her, because she was half-naked. The dress was long but slit up to her hip, making her mind the way she moved. It's halter neck was a bit more risqué than she would have liked. The dark gold fabric shimmered in the light leaving very little to the imagination. Her shoes were dark red and so high it was a wonder she could walk, yet she managed to do it with grace. Taking a moment to adjust her hair with scarlet nails, she headed into the men's restroom.
Inside she saw the young man, he had left the door wide open. She expected his eyes to be blank and a small grin to play on his lips, maybe a red tear or two. She expected anything but the blood that trickled down from his over-flowing eye to join with the small stream coming from his lips.
She knew he was dead instantly.
Idiot she thought furiously.
Her eyes hardened before she shrugged and walked into the bathroom stall. Closing it behind her she reached forward, her red nails gently touching his neck. Then they disappeared into his skin, burrowing deeper and deeper until they hit his spin. Then they stopped and her nails split, each attaching to a different sense that ran through his spine. The woman closed her eyes and began to sift through the man's memories. They were rapidly fading but the woman managed to get through them all. She withdrew her fingers quickly and left the bathroom quickly—seconds before the man began to spout blood all over the walls.