From Shrimp Boy to Slapjack: System Activated

Five

The cacophony of Elysium slammed into me like a physical wave as I stepped through the gleaming doors. Gone was the serenity of the night, replaced by a pulsating mass of bodies thrumming to the relentless beat of the music. Strobe lights strobed, painting the crowd in fractured bursts of colour, while the air shimmered with the invisible sweat of a thousand intoxicated bodies.

In the centre of the dance floor, a man stood upon a raised platform, bathed in a spotlight. It was Belson, the man Curry had dubbed "Mr. Moneybags." He was everything a caricature of wealth would be – a gaudy suit clinging to a portly frame, a diamond-encrusted watch glinting on his wrist, and a face perpetually twisted into a sneer. Around him, the crowd pulsated with a feverish energy, their cheers and jeers a chaotic counterpoint to the pounding music.

"More! More!" they roared, a chant fueled by an insatiable hunger for spectacle. Belson, his face flushed with a mixture of champagne and misplaced importanc