MYTH OF THE MACHINE.
- Sex mission?.. Uh oh..
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The Shiranui Tower was a massive, platinum-and-glass middle finger to the heavens, piercing the clouds with a level of arrogance that only obscene wealth could buy. To Bendy, it wasn’t just an architectural eyesore—it was a goddamn fortress of filth. From the outside, it looked like corporate prestige; on the inside, it was a high-end sex temple where the air tasted like expensive perfume and poor life choices.
Keep your eyes on the prize and your hands on your fucking holsters,Cuphead hissed, adjusting the lapels of a charcoal-grey tailored suit that looked far too sharp for a reckless gambling addict. He looked like a million bucks, even if he acted like a ticking time bomb. Mugman, looking uncharacteristically lethal in a midnight-blue three-piece, scanned the perimeter with eyes that were cold, calculating, and predatory.
I’m not here to sightsee, Cup. But if one more handsy bastard touches my shoulder, I’m breaking fingers.They pushed through a set of heavy, velvet curtains, and the sensory assault hit them like a freight train. It was an adult-themed dinner theater designed for the depraved. Burlesque dancers moved on raised stages with a slow, agonizing heat, their bodies draped in nothing but sequins and sweat. The room was a sprawling sea of undignified lust—couples, throuples, and groups of hedonists tangled together in the shadows of the booths.
Christ on a cracker,Boris muttered, tugging at the collar of his formal dress shirt. He looked uncomfortable, his protective instincts for Bendy flaring up in the musk of the room.
This place smells like a goddamn bordello.Bendy, leaning against a marble pillar in a sleek black suit that complemented his
charmingpersona, let out a sharp, jagged cough. He wiped his mouth, checking for the telltale black smudge of the Blot before looking up with a smirk that didn't reach his eyes.
Relax, Boris. It’s just a few dicks and all,Bendy quipped.