3WW: effects of a dance club on an assassin

3WW #CLX
Heartache
Jangle
Reckless
= = =


The cacophonic jangle of what passed for music these days reduced to just a dull roar in my ears as I diverted attention away from my hearing and towards my sight instead, allowing Nelson to lead me ever deeper through the writhing mass of frenetic dancers gyrating wildly not just on the dance floor but wherever there was room - on chairs, tables, even each other. A familiar shape caught my eye, swinging above me from what looked like a light fixture -- surely Adira wouldn't be that reckless? Keeping enhanced eyes trained on what I hoped wasn't Adira, I had just started to tug at Nelson's hand, to show him what was above us, when a set of multi-colored strobe lights flashed to life, searing my hyper-sensitized corneas, turning my world into white pain, my eyes orbs of agony. I know I screamed, but my ears heard nothing; it was all I could do to stagger in the direction I was being pulled. Had Nelson not noticed anything? As trained, my attention moved to the remaining senses, standard survival procedure: the feel of Nelson's already too-cold and too-clammy reptilian skin was suddenly overwhelming and I started to shake uncontrollably, which made Nelson grip me even more tightly and pull me along even more firmly. Forcing my attention away from skin and touch, I was suddenly aware of just how badly the place reeked of hundreds and hundreds of ripe, unwashed bodies. Gag reflex -- I started to heave. Bent over almost double, I gritted my teeth and tried breathing through my mouth, but instead of bringing relief my tongue found itself assaulted by the taste of the offensive odors. They didn't train you for situations like this. I felt myself losing it, on the brink of passing out, yet the grip on my arm was merciless, and I stumbled along, a wretched dry-heaving blind shaky-kneed fool, a wannabe hero defeated effortlessly by the inside of ... of... a dance club?! Oh, the heartache! The shame!