[Superior Pheromones] Show her $500, promise the rest afterwards.

[AUTHOR'S NOTE: If you're not playing the game, this route assumes you have the Bulging Biceps perk, which changes the last paragraphs significantly.]

"Five-hundred right now, and five-hundred when you prove you're willing to do anything." You work the money out of your wallet, never taking your eye off the prize before you, and watch her eyes light up almost childishly at the flashed green. There was some kind of refusal at the tip of her tongue but, like so many women around you these days, she can't find the will to deny your bargain.

She walks forward, and you withdraw the money into your apartment as she does, literally luring her into your trap. You lock your door before you close it behind her... and she takes hold of that hand as she charges up to and kisses you on the chin. Dumbfounded, and then delighted, you lower your face to kiss hers, scooping those tiny shoulders in your hands. Her fingers unravel your grip on the money and make the wad vanish somewhere in the clothes you have every intention of removing.

She withdraws after a minute of this, and you find enough of your senses to question why the media tells you about whores who don't kiss. Maybe it was your scent, and now your spit on her tongue, that make her smile up at you as she withdraws towards your couch. "I... am yours," she declares, a fresh injection of worry mixing with her new joy. "What do you won't?" She sits on your loveseat, her eyes drifting over the steel pot, flasks and other instruments strewn over a layer of paper on your coffee table. Devi retired to her {if Devi_slave = false}quarantined bedroom{else@}apartment{endif} after learning of your intentions today, leaving you alone with your new query. "You won't... buttsecks?"

You cringe at her English, but return her smile as you draw near. "I only want one thing-"

The front doorknob twists, and you instinctively turn to regard what you expect to be Devi, against your wishes, until you see the figure that strolls into your apartment. A leather vest some thirty years out of fashion appears over heavily-tattooed skin stretched onto a lean musculature. "Marrow Makers" is emblazoned on his chest in black ink and lightning font, framed in a cacophany of black-ink depictions of naked women, skulls, and revolvers. One of his arms, sleeved in cartoonishly orange fire, brings a cigarette to his mouth; the other, covered in some memorial to a row of dead men dressed like him in coffins, leverages a baseball bat that almost distracts you from the pistol handle sticking out from above his pants zipper. His head, shaved bald and covered in more depictions of ****, ends in the wrinkled message on his chin with an arrow pointing to his mouth: "Pussy Goes Here". You would've avoided him on the street as bad news, not so long ago; you absolutely didn't want him in your apartment now.

"Well look at this pretty little pussy, tryina fuck my wife," the dangerous-looking stranger declares.

You glance back at her, confused... only to be met with a graduated cylinder, swung by none other than the prostitute you just hired, smashing against the side of your head. {if Evo_bulgingbiceps = false}The thud and shatter of thick glass stuns you, and you stare with hate at the serious, smirking woman you welcomed into your apartment, the conditions therein be damned.

Unfortunately, that's just enough of a distraction to give the thug his wind-up swing, the bat aiming squarely for your head.

You barely feel it crack against your temple... and then you never feel anything ever again.

BAD END{else@}The glass shatters... and "Chantel" is stunned to see you not so much as flinch while staring at her. {endif}