Before Dr. Kent could react, someone at the bar's entrance approached him.
"Hello there, sir! I saw you from afar. You wouldn't believe how excited I am to see such a distinguished gentleman lingering at our Roxie Bar!"
The doorman pulled Kent inside. In an instant, he was engulfed by raucous music and an overwhelming torrent of sound, most of it originating from men—Roxie Bar was London's most famous gay bar. Kent's worldview nearly shattered on the spot.
He closed his eyes tightly, holding his breath. If he hadn't entered, it would have been fine—at least he wouldn't have been contaminated by this chaos. But now, he had to find John Constantine.
Kent's gaze fell on the stage, where a bass player wildly jammed in black leather shorts with rivets and an open vest. Golden hair gleamed under the lights. Could this punk-infused figure be the John Constantine he sought?
Kent's stomach churned. Could such a Constantine deal with someone like Axel? Or would he be more interested in enjoying the chaos?
Just as he was about to retreat, the lead singer froze mid-performance. Constantine, cursing, took over the singing. Then the guitarist threw his instrument toward Kent.
"Whoohoo!"
"Wow!"
"Exciting!"
The crowd erupted, pausing their flirtations to cheer the lead singer, who pointed dramatically at Kent.
"Quick! Stop that man! I've fallen for him at first sight! His grizzled beard—it pierces my heart! Stop him!"
The mic flew from the singer's hands and exploded with a harsh noise. Kent flinched, surrounded by eager admirers. One approached playfully.
"Old buddy, Johnny's taken a liking to you! He's our lead singer, second only to John. Stop grimacing and embrace it—you walked into Roxie Bar voluntarily, didn't you?"
Pushed forward by the crowd, Kent glared in disgust. Johnny, sensing Kent's conflict, waved toward the stage.
"To hell with John, hand the mic to Chas—you've got a hot date at the door!"
Constantine weaved through the audience, cigarette in hand, and reached Kent.
"Are we playing now, or backstage? Either way, I'm ready. You've got that old-world noble aura, almost angelic. Not flattery—I've seen real angels. Almost played with them, hahahaha!"
Kent frowned. "I need to take you to America to deal with another matter."
Constantine sat back, grinning. "First-class ticket, hotel paid, two hundred Dollars for downtime, five hundred for active work. Fair?"
Kent rolled his eyes but nodded. "What if my target isn't ordinary? It's someone as formidable as… maybe not Satan, but comparable?"
"Heh, you're not from the outside circle—you're an insider, buddy!" Constantine's smile widened. He pulled out his phone.
"I love big trouble. Show me one million Dollars, and we'll discuss your target further. Payment depends on the threat level. So, hurry—don't make me work for free!"
Kent complied, transferring the funds and showing the confirmation. Constantine's eyes widened.
"Processed! You're rich!" He leapt from the sofa, ecstatic.
Kent continued. "The target is a Wraith named Axel, recently active in Gotham City, southern America. He can't be killed or captured. I need you to investigate any connection he might have to Hell or Heaven. Wait—what's this magic circle?"
Kent's shock deepened as a glowing array appeared beside Constantine. Constantine smirked, flipping him off.
"This is a teleportation array, of course! Did you think I wouldn't recognize you? I grew up reading your comics, old buddy! And thanks to the boss for the one million Dollars reward! I'll enjoy every bit of it—bye bye!"
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