We are in the basement now. At the end of the hall is a steel door,
with perhaps, just the faintest HINT OF MUSIC heard coming from
beyond. Raquel knocks.
A "peep-hole" slat opens and a BLACK LIGHT shines into Raquel's eyes.
A VOICE behind the door offers a verbal challenge, speaking a
language we've never heard, laced with a devilish cadence.
Raquel responds in kind. The door opens. Raquel gives Dennis a
knowing wink, enters. Dennis follows.
INT. CLUB - NIGHT
Raquel and Dennis move past a hulking DOORMAN, making their way down
a narrow stairway. Dennis is suitably impressed.
is elite, underground -- an "abattoir-chic" version of an old-time
juke joint with a greasy, dangerous vibe. White-tiled walls and
floors for easy hosing, chromed fittings, run-off gutters, drains. No
writhe on the strobe-lit dance floor. A heavy S&M scene. Leather.
Latex. Tattoos. Body-piercings.
A D.J. wearing head-mounted spotlights orchestrates the tunes on
twin- decks. MUSIC assaults us -- a beat so heavy it could jar the
fillings from your teeth. Brutal "DARKCORE" along the lines of
Prodigy or Underground.
Raquel pulls Dennis out onto the dance floor. They sway.
A lupine-featured GAULTIER GIRL with a streak of white running
through her raven hair moves in behind Dennis, pressing up against
him. Rachel Williams as the Angel of Death -- we'll call her MERCURY.
Mercury flicks her tongue against Dennis' ear -- it's been pierced
with a silver post which clicks against her teeth. Tattooed across
her back in black is a swirling, tribal vortex.
Dennis is now sandwiched between Raquel and Mercury, the three of
them dry-humping their way to every man's glory.