Hair Salon

You walk down to the middle of town. You see a man in exorbitant, lavish robes. Behind him, 7 young women in skimpy, sultry 2 piece dresses dutifully walk behind him. He leads them into a pub. You shake your head in disgust. If all goes well, soon you’ll liberate all those poor women. You continue walking until you come across a large, but rather beaten up, rustic wood building with a sign saying “Pimro’s Styling and Hair”. As you approach the door, a fat, stout man harshly pulls along a girl behind him, cutting you off. You look at the girl. She is naked, covered in dirt and mud. Her platinum blonde hair is mangled and matted, leaves and dirt embedded deep in her clusterfuck of hair. She tries to keep her head low, but you can see that she is bruised and bloodied up. She can’t be a day over 18, with a large leather collar, cinching, vise-like around her neck, with a rusty iron chain leading to the fat man’s meaty fist. You slowly file in behind the two, the girl’s bare feet leaving slight dust markings on the clean basswood floor. You look around the room. There are 8 different stations, with different cleaning and maintenance products. You spot two different men working in the salon. One has short, curly red hair, probably in his late twenties. But the other, has a dark grey mullet. He looks to be in his early 60s. You notice the rotund man yank the young girl over to the redhead - perfect. You approach the man with the mullet as he wipes down the counter near a chair.

Below a whisper, you quietly murmur

“I understand that you are the prophet?”

The man looks at you bewildered. “Prophet?” He catechizes.

Again, hushed, you squeak out “You are the prophet who will help me overthrow Pohlep, and, eventually, the usurper Nonag?”

To your dismay, the man freezes, and chills begin to run through him. Seemingly possessed, he shouts

“SHE MEANS TO KILL LORD POHLEP!”

The 4 in the salon, the man with the mullet, the other hairstylist, the fat man, and even the young girl all snap their heads at you. Shit. You attempt to run for it, but the redhead lunges at you. You hurdle him, but, midbound, the girl dives and grabs your left ankle. Her momentum throws her to the ground, bringing you down hard on your left side next to her. The fat man waddles over and sits upon your back, pinning your arms behind you. The man with the mullet saunters over, a vial with a thick orange sludge in it between his palms. He kneels before you as you writhe and wiggle, but cannot escape the heavy man’s build. The stylist yanks the cork off of the vial. The girl takes the vial from the stylist as he pries your mouth open. You try to bite his fingers, but his immense strength overpowers your jaw. Your mouth held wide open, the girl pours the sludge into your mouth. Your head tipped back, gravity pulls the sludge back, leaving you with no way to spit it out. It slowly creeps its way down your throat. Suddenly, blue swirls start to fog your vision, turning in circles, slowly, gradually getting faster until your eyes feel like they’re burning. Your eyes roll up into your head and all goes dark.