Inner monologue time as Niel follows Donnie.
Niel: So, how are we going to approach this? You're the charming guy.
Polaris: Appeal to his desires. Criminals like these are greedy and short sighted. You can't convince them with talks of investments. Show them what we can do for them now, not later.
N: P: N: P: N: P: You know I hate musicals.
I'm not going to put those without money into debt and shove them out the door. Greed and hospitals shouldn't be a thing.
Then we don't offer them medicine. These mooks just want a way to make money, lets tell them about how people do make money off of hospitals.
Insurance. These street thugs already probably nickle and dime people like crazy for "protection". Not to mention pushing drugs onto people.
It'll have to do for now until we find a better source. I honestly don't mind this. We'd make more money if we charged everyone.
And we'd get less patients because people would rather die then come to us and face the medical bills. Plus unlike normal insurance companies, I get the feeling we'll get some Repo going on here.
"So yeah..." Donnie says leaning into the swinging club doors that birth them into what seems like another world.
The floors are pressed obsidian and an odd kind unique comfort to the soles of a man's feet. People dance, mingle and sit alone amongst the rabble of nightcrawlers that coalesce into a meaty mix of tendrils, claws, and flesh. "Find a seat somewhere- and I'd avoid eye contact if I was you. Half this crowd doesn't like new faces, the other half just want to start some shit on impulse. I'll be back."
Donnie can be seen ascending a spiral steels staircase to an office that stood like a skybox in a stadium overlooking the dance floor, bar and front door. He spent several minutes and emphatic gestures standing outside and talking to a large man with a bald head in a black suit that didn't seem moved until Donnie finally stops talking. They both peer down at the doctor (Can't remember if he gave his name). The bald man nods with a scowl and steps aside to allow Donnie entry, then turns his attention to the doctor and doesn't so much as blink.
Eyes are glowing in the dark sapphire light of the strobe, peering in your direction, red, blue greenish eyes. Some of them continue to peer around but others are set on you. One rises in the back of the stalls, so receded into the club's shadows that he seemed like a set of eyes flying in the moist sweat dense air.
The door of the office opens and Donnie steps out, peering down and waving a hand at you to come with him into the office. Inside, the young dealer is sitting at the desk of a man no older than 35 smoking a cigarette with several old books, yellow with rotting, scattered across the top. They made just enough room for an ashtray and a phone.
The man presses the butt into the tray as Donnie finishes his explanation of the night.
"Not my usual clandestine 1 am meeting type of guy, I must say. What is it you want, Mr. Doctor."