The line to enter the club, only just opened, is split so that men and women go in separately. Two young women, of college-age with athletic bodies clad in revealing crop-tops and shorts, are manning the door and as you get closer you realize they're identical.
"They're from the Scottie line. Made only by this club."
The words come from another woman in line, willowy but with an impressive bust, and you nod as you shuffle past the clones. Inside the club a wall of noise stops you dead and you just stare, unable to believe your eyes.
A long bar stretches nearly the length of one entire wall, a score of Scotties serving drinks or dancing provocatively atop it, and the dance floor that takes up the rest of the space is heaving with people moving to the pounding beat. A Scottie in just shorts walks past, handing tickets to every woman she encounters, and you glance at yours, noting the number printed on it.
It doesn't take long for you to be on the dance floor, teasing the hunks you were checking out while in the queue to get in. Wandering hands, both yours and others, cop feels, you certainly like what you find, and accept full plastic glasses whenever one is thrust at you.
You're lost to the rhythm when a speaker crackles into life, a barely understandable speech cutting through the music. A number is said and then repeated a few times before you remember your ticket and you fumble to pull it from the waistband of your tight leggings. The numbers match! A wandering Scottie sees the realization dawn on your face and crosses as cheering breaks out, a tipsy smile on your face.
The Scottie leads you to a door in the back wall, cleverly painted so it won't be noticed unless you know what to look for. The room beyond is dark and cramped, you feel the Scottie brushing against you as she moves, and then there's a hiss and clunk. A section of wall slides away and again you're frozen. Directly opposite a Scottie is desperately inhaling a man's cock, a woman manacled to a table next to them screaming as she is cut in half by a saw. To your right one Scottie is strangling another, both gasping as a man fucks them from behind.
A ding and the sound of lights powering up makes you glance upward and you notice the mirror, fuzzy brain trying to work out what has appeared on the wall above your head. The Scottie you're sharing the space with moans and starts masturbating, throwing her clothes off, before stumbling and dropping to the floor.
A small hole in her forehead starts leaking crimson and you back away as you realize the Scottie has been shot. A piece of door puffs as you duck just in time to avoid a bullet, there's a groan from the room, and a man appears in the hole in the wall, levelling his silenced pistol at you and pulling the trigger agonizingly slowly.
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