[No one can see anything yet, just a wall and a hunched back. John's dropped a pen on the floor. Once he retrieves it, he sits up, a man with short brown hair and a red jumper appearing to everyone on the network.]So Sherlock and I finally have a flat together. I'm so glad to be out of that hell hole and something with proper Darkness protection.
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As if my opinion of this city couldn't get any worse.
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What's my problem?
I'm a man who enjoys sex about as much as the next one and a man can go to as many strip clubs as he wants, but the exploitation of those fallen on hard times that a sex club builds its business on is deplorable. Exploitation of the young, the down-trodden, and those who made bad business deals.
And with these murders, these owners obviously don't give two shits about their slaves. The mentality is that they'll get another one to replace the victim. They're not going into the business voluntarily -- they are given no other option to pay off their debt.
That's my problem.
[He's beet red in the face and shaking slightly.]
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