The searing pain of a bullet was the last sensation Alex remembered before absolute, blissful nothing. At twenty-three, an orphan since five, a stripper since eighteen, and a sex worker for as long as he could recall, his life — a gritty tapestry of neon lights, cheap thrills, and endless propositions at Madam Anya's 'Luxurious' club — had come to an abrupt, unceremonious end. So, when he blinked open his eyes not to the sterile white of a hospital, but to the cool, rough embrace of stone, he couldn't help but observe his surroundings and muse, "Never thought hell could be this comfortable."
He pushed himself up, his muscles protesting only slightly. He was clad in rags, his body uncomfortably exposed to the cool air. The air was thick with an unfamiliar scent — a mix of woodsmoke, something earthy, and a faint, cloying sweetness. He found himself in a narrow alley, its rough-hewn stone walls rising high enough to obscure most of the sky. A few steps brought him to the alley's mouth, and he peered out, expecting to see the familiar grime of his city, the bustling streets, perhaps even a glimpse of 'Luxurious'.
What he saw instead made him freeze.
This wasn't his city. This wasn't even his world. The buildings were squat and made of mud-baked brick, their roofs thatched with dried grasses. Crude tools of wood and stone lay scattered outside one dwelling, nothing like the metal and plastic he knew. "Oh God," he thought, a sense of dread creeping in, "did I transmigrate to the ancient city of Sodom and Gomorrah?" A group of guards ran past him without a glance, and the more he observed the people and their unusual attire, the more bewildered he became. Deciding to explore, he set off to wander this strange settlement.
A low moan, then another, cut through the unfamiliar sounds of the street. Alex knew that sound intimately. It was the sound of bodies entwined, of pleasure reaching its peak. His instincts, honed by years in the industry, pulled him towards the source. He crept to a small, high opening in one of the mud-brick houses and carefully peered through.
His breath hitched. Inside, illuminated by the flickering light of an oil lamp, two men were locked in a passionate embrace. Their movements were uninhibited, their moans echoing softly in the small room. Alex watched for a moment, a strange mix of shock and familiarity washing over him. "This is some Sodom and Gomorrah shit right here," he thought, a shiver running down his spine. "I had better be careful before rain of sulfur falls from the sky." If this wasn't literal Sodom, it was certainly its ancient, depraved twin.
The initial shock gave way to a more pressing concern: money. He was alive, somehow, in this strange, ancient world. But how would he survive? His parents had died when he was five, leaving him to the mercy of an orphanage until he was twelve. Then Madam Anya, with her sharp eyes and even sharper tongue, had taken him in, not out of charity, but with an agenda. From eighteen, he'd been on her stage, his body his only currency. Stripping, selling himself — that was his skillset. He didn't know how to farm, how to hunt, how to craft. His expertise lay in the realm of flesh and desire.
The next morning, Alex, feeling like a ghost haunting a forgotten past, wandered through the bustling market. The air was thick with the smells of cooking fires and livestock, punctuated by the cries of vendors. He tried to blend in, to observe, to understand. His stomach grumbled, a stark reminder of his predicament. Lost in thought, he bumped squarely into a man emerging from a stall.
"Oh, excuse me!" Alex blurted out, a reflex from his old life. He looked up at the man, who was tall and broad-shouldered, with kind eyes that softened as they met Alex's apologetic gaze.
"It is quite alright," the man said, his voice surprisingly gentle. He paused, his gaze lingering on Alex. "Though, for someone so… striking, you seem quite lost. I haven't seen your face in our market before."
Alex felt a blush creep up his neck at the compliment, a rare occurrence given his profession. He seized the opportunity. "Yes," he said, letting a hint of vulnerability creep into his voice. "I… I'm new here. And I have nowhere to go."
The man's brow furrowed with concern. "Homeless? That will not do." He paused, then gestured with a large hand. "Come with me. I know a place where you might find work, and a roof over your head."
Hope, fragile but insistent, bloomed in Alex's chest. He followed the man, his mind racing. Work? What kind of work could he possibly do here? They walked for a few minutes, past more mud-brick houses, until they stopped before a larger dwelling, its entrance adorned with colorful tapestries. A low murmur of voices, laughter, and something else… something familiar, drifted from within.
The man pushed aside a tapestry, revealing a dimly lit interior. Alex stepped inside, and his eyes immediately adjusted to the soft glow of multiple oil lamps. The scent hit him first: a potent mix of sweet incense, wine, and a distinct musk that sent a jolt of recognition through him. And then he saw them: men and women, scantily clad, mingling with patrons, their laughter echoing through the space.
A wry, almost melancholic smile touched Alex's lips. Of course. This wasn't just a house. This was a brothel. And suddenly, in this ancient, bewildering world, Alex felt a strange sense of… belonging. This was his domain. This was where he knew how to survive. He might have died in one life, but in this new one, it seemed hell had just become his new workplace.
At a household not far away, but which clearly belonged to nobility, a man around twenty years of age woke up from his bed, the surroundings shocking him.
"Where am I? Shit, how drunk was I? My head feels like it would explode any moment," he mumbled to himself, then the events that led to this situation flooded his memory. This was Marc, a first-year university student studying music. He had a boyfriend, Julian, who loved him, but their relationship remained hidden. Marc had homophobic Evangelical parents, while Julian was a married man of thirty-two, the CEO of a really big tech company. Marc's sex life was active, though always in the shadows.
Last week, Marc and Julian booked a hotel, unaware they were being watched. Pictures were taken from the reception. While in the room, Marc and Julian were getting intimate, and even though Marc knew this wasn't good and his parents' stance on it, he just kept on. He didn't know when or how he would find the courage to come out, but for now, this was the best he could dream of. However, during their intimate moment, the cameras to the room were hacked, and the video of the two, including the pictures, were all over the internet the next day.
Marc found out and couldn't face his parents or friends. His parents called him all through the next day, but he couldn't pick up. His schoolmates laughed at him for being with a guy a decade older than him. His life moved from one day at a time to an outright mess. News channels, blogs, and more had streamed the news of their affair everywhere. Julian's marriage and business crumbled. There was nowhere to go, so Marc drowned himself in alcohol to wipe away the pain. He got so drunk that he decided to jump off a very high building as a last resort. The last thing he remembered was the pain, and then he died. Now, he was in this body, which felt significantly weaker than a normal person's.