The door creaked open, and for a moment, the grime and stench of District 11 simply vanished.
Kourtney looked like a glitch in the system.
She was a high-tier beauty trapped in a low-tier hellhole, the kind of woman who belonged in a District 1 penthouse, draped in silk and sipping expensive wine.
Her short red hair was styled in a messy crop that framed a face built for high-definition cameras. She had high, razor-sharp cheekbones and full, pillowy lips that seemed to hold a permanent pout.
But it was her dull eyes, heavy-lidded, and bedroom-bored, that gave her that "baddie" edge. They were the eyes of someone who had seen it all but was still waiting to be impressed.
Beneath her thin, semi-translucent blouse, her breasts were a work of art. They weren't the heavy, swaying cannons that Jane carried, they were high, firm, and perfectly round. The fabric of her shirt strained against their perkiness, the dark circles of her nipples teasing the material every time she took a breath.
Her waist was cinched, leading down to hips that promised a lethal rhythm, even under her casual house shorts.
"Oh....Erik?" she stammered, her voice a smoky alto. She blinked, her dull eyes suddenly widening as she took in the man standing in her doorway.
She scanned my broader shoulders and the way my black shirt hugged my newly dense muscles, and a deep, crimson blush crept from her chest all the way to her ears.
"Didn't expect to see you for another week..." she whispered, her confidence wavering.
"Yet here I am," I said in a commanding rumble. I flashed a grin.
Kourtney actually took a step back, her gaze dropping to the floor. She couldn't hold my eyes. She stood there, fidgeting with the hem of her blouse, her breath hitching in a way that told me her heart was currently trying to leap out of her chest.
"Should I...?" I prompted, my voice smooth as silk.
"Oh! God, sorry," she gasped, snapping out of her trance. She pulled the door wide, her hand trembling slightly on the handle. "Please... do come in. I wasn't... I wasn't expecting company, the place is a mess."
I stepped past her into the small apartment, the scent of her perfume whuch was cheap but surprisingly sweet, replacing the smell of the slums. As I brushed past her, I made sure my shoulder caught hers, feeling the spark of static and the way she shivered at the contact.
"Don't worry about the mess, Kourtney," I said, surveying the room with a cool, proprietary gaze. "We aren't here to talk about interior design."
"Oh, hey there," I said, my voice cutting through the thick, smoky air of the small living area.
I hadn't noticed her at first, but lounging on the worn velvet sofa was a blonde, sharp-featured, blue-eyed, and radiating a defiant confidence that Kourtney lacked.
She was exhaling a plume of grey smoke from a thin, cigarette, her legs crossed in a way that showed off a pair of long, toned thighs.
"Hey yourself," the blonde said. Her voice was steady, but I noticed her hand tremble slightly as she tapped ash into a tray.
"That's Abby," Kourtney said, stepping into the room. "My roommate. We... we split the Fortress Tax here. It's the only way to stay out of the street-levels."
I walked over and claimed a spot on the sofa right next to Abby. The cushions groaned under my weight. Abby instinctively shifted away, her confidence flickering like a dying bulb as she felt the raw heat radiating off my skin.
"Is it okay to talk business here?" I asked, looking up at Kourtney. "Or do we need a more... private setting?"
Kourtney stood in the center of the room, her chest heaving. Her firm, high breasts bounced under her blouse as she took a jagged breath, struggling to find her words under my gaze.
"We can talk here," she whispered. "Abby knows everything. She's on Vivid-Link too."
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[World Note: Vivid-Link]
The premier subscription platform for the Unawakened. Unlike XXX-Stream's live combat and hardcore broadcasts, Vivid-Link is for 'Soft-Drops', staged photos and solo videos for those too afraid of the Hunter's Law.
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"I just do the solo stuff," Abby chimed in, trying to regain her edge. "Pictures, teasing... safe shit. I'm not like Kourtney. I'm not brave enough, or desperate enough to take a dick on a live feed."
"Abby's just scared to go the extra mile," Kourtney countered, though her voice lacked conviction.
"You should be too," Abby snapped, pointing her cigarette at me. "If Balenor finds out you're doing a Live-Collab with this guy, he'll kill him. Slowly."
I leaned back, a cold grin spreading across my face. "And who, exactly, is Balenor?"
"My boyfriend," Kourtney said, letting out a long, weary sigh. "He's a Mid-Rank Hunter. D-Tier."
I suppressed a laugh. A D-Tier. In this district, a D-Tier was a god, but to me, with my hidden potential and the Goddess's backing, he was just another mob to be cleared.
No wonder the old Erik had been stalling; he was terrified of a Mid-Ranker's wrath. But looking at Kourtney's desperate eyes and the faded state of her apartment, it was clear her hero wasn't providing.
"Will he hurt you if you do the stream?" I asked, my voice dropping to a low, protective register.
"No," Abby snorted, rolling her eyes. "The bloody simp treats her like glass. He won't lay a finger on her. But you? He'll track you through the sectors and gut you like a rat."
I leaned toward Kourtney, ignoring Abby entirely.
"Don't worry about me, Kourtney," I said. "I can handle a D-Tier without breaking a sweat. My only concern is you."
Abby stared at me like I was a dead man walking, but Kourtney... Kourtney looked like she had just found a liferaft in a storm. She wanted the credits, sure, but she also wanted the man who wasn't afraid of her man.
"You said you needed credits urgently, right?" I asked.
She nodded, her eyes locked onto mine.
"Then forget next week," I said, standing up and towering over her. "The fans don't want to wait, and neither do I. Are you willing to go Live today? Right now?"
Kourtney hesitated, her gaze darting to Abby as if looking for a reason to say no, or a reason to be saved from herself. Abby just blew a slow, cynical cloud of smoke and shook her head, the unspoken 'You're on your own' hanging in the air.
But Kourtney wasn't just looking at the credits anymore. She was looking at me, at the way I occupied the room, the way my presence seemed to make the walls feel smaller. The hunger in her eyes won the battle against her fear.
"Yes," she whispered, the word barely more than a breath. "Let's do it."
Abby rolled her eyes, muttering something about "death wishes.'
"Good choice," I said, standing up. "Go get prepared. Put on some lingerie....something lacey, something that makes you look like the prize you are."
Kourtney blinked, startled by the sudden shift in my tone. "Wait... we're streaming here? In this room?" She looked around at the faded wallpaper and the cramped layout. "Wouldn't a shithole like this turn off the viewers? The high-rankers like high-production value."
I flashed a grin. "Trust me, Kourtney. The viewers don't care about the wallpaper when they're watching a high-tier cock drilling into a beautiful woman. The slum aesthetic just makes it feel more raw. More real."
Abby leaned back, tapping her cigarette. "You're missing your kit, 'Producer.' Where are the light-rigs? The stabilizer drones? You didn't bring any equipment."
"I don't need a crew," I said, tapping the side of my smartphone. "My phone is all the equipment I need for this."
I turned back to Abby, my eyes scanning her from head to toe. "You don't mind us using the common room for this, do you? It might get a little... loud."
Abby let out a sharp, dry laugh. "Buddy, these District 11 blocks are packed so tight that the sound of people fucking is basically the local radio station. Sex moans are music to our ears around here. You can rail her into the mattress for all I care; I won't mind."
"You won't get aroused watching us?" I teased.
Abby stiffened for a fraction of a second, her pupils dilating before she looked away, puffing aggressively on her cigarette. "You might be hot, Erik, but you're simply not my type. I like my men a little less... overwhelming."
"Ouch," I said, though I could hear her heart racing. Liar.
Kourtney disappeared into the back room to change, her hips swaying with a new, nervous energy. I pulled out my phone and logged into the XXX-Stream creator dashboard.
I tapped the 'Go Live' scheduler and set the countdown.
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[X-STREAM NOTIFICATION: PREMIER BROADCAST INBOUND]
[Title:ERIK vs. DISTRICT 11 BRUNETTE KOURTNEY]
[Start Time: 30 Minutes]
[Entry Fee: 50 Credits / Free for VIP Subscribers]
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I watched the waiting room count immediately jump from zero to three hundred.
"Thirty minutes," I muttered. "Time to show the world what a transmigrated pornstar can do to a girl from the slums."