Comply.

Pushing your feelings back down deep inside, you take a deep breath and try to think about this carefully.

The cops are upstairs. Fighting them would be extraordinarily risky. It's a week until the boat arrives, so you'd have to travel on foot even if you do make it out of town. That's a journey that would take months even if you knew the area, which you don't.

The cards are not in your favor.

Releasing a deep sigh, you nod at him.

"Fine."

He breaks out into a broad grin.

"Good. Let's get you in a room."

Leading you through the gaudy abandoned subway station, you can't help but cringe at the surroundings, unable to keep a disgusted expression from creeping onto your features. At the end of the path he turns into a room, what was once apparently some kind of storage locker, converted into a makeshift boudoir with numerous cushions, a tattered carpet, and a worn looking double bed.

"There's a bathroom next door, wash yourself and get some rest. You'll see your first client tomorrow. Play nice, be charming, or you know what I'll have to do with ya. Should be something nice to wear in the closet."

Without any delay, he leaves, still rubbing his shoulder. As the door clangs shut you sit on the bed, and lay your head in your hands. For a moment, you feel like crying. Instead, you stand up, furious, and punch the closest concrete wall with all your strength, leaving a head sized crater in the surface and covering the room in dust.

Why is everybody so fucking horny all the time!?

Taking a step back, you wave your hand back and forth to clear the dust from its ridges. You have ****. You have to be dispassionate. Detached. You'll get through this.

Sitting down on the bed, you wrap yourself up in the blankets and close your eyes.

Today has been exhausting. You doubt tomorrow will be any better.