Party zone, fun city, playtime for (so called adults). You can concentrate on either the goings on or the consequences. -- Anon Guest
[AN: Hope you don't mind, but I fixed the obvious typos]
You could call it a fun park, but it was closer to being an entire metropolis at this stage. They called it Fun City, and it contained every kind of enjoyment there was for an adult to indulge in.
There was the Spa Quarter, the Movies District, Shotgun Alley (where cleared patrons could paintball each other into oblivion through several imaginary scenarios), the Gambling Dens and, of course, the Party Zone.
Everything that didn't actually cause lasting harm was legal in Fun City.
You could wander into the Sin Section and couple with any hired body you liked, provided, of course, that you had adequate protection.
And it was right next to the Party Zone, so those for hire or hookup wore a special bracelet as a simple signal that they were available. And the bouncers made sure that 'no' meant 'no'.
And for the recalcitrant ones, there were Counsellors.
"Hey, I thought everything was legal in here," protested exhibit A, the usual suspect in mass shootings, angry at the world because every girl with a karat's worth of sense avoided him like the plague. The stench of Axe body spray had already overwhelmed the room, but it failed to overwhelm his body odour. He apparently hadn't washed since the last time his parents had caught him above basement level.
"Everything that does no lasting harm," explained Counsellor McKay. He had to be male, because the recalcitrant kept trying to hit on the other counsellors. "Attempting to kidnap and then rape another person is lasting harm, Bobby."
"What? She was a whore. They get over it."
"No, Bobby," soothed Counsellor McKay. "Nobody gets over rape. If someone were to take you away at gunpoint and then try to rape you, would you get over it?"
"Fucking try it, I could take you down and then rip off your gay head."
"I wasn't even attempting to begin, Bobby. I was asking you a hypothetical question. Can you imagine what it would be like?"
"I can still sue you all for false advertising. I'm not having fun! You took my money and didn't give me shit! It's my right to have sex!"
"And yet you turned down thirty-seven people who offered."
"I'm not gay and the girls were dogs. I demand some prime ass. And I want it now."
Counsellor McKay rolled his eyes and went with brutal honesty. "You want prime ass? Look in a mirror. You are one."
"What? No! You can't talk to me like that, I have rights. I was guaranteed the fun that I want!"
"And you can't have it. Not at others' expense." Counsellor McKay showed him the contract. "You allegedly read and agreed to this. First paragraph past the definitions. Read it out loud. If you can."
"Fun City reserves the right to refuse service to obnoxious clients in order to insure the enjoyment of others." Bobby smacked a fist onto the table. "This is bullshit! I'm guaranteed fun!"
"And how do we guarantee the fun for all those around you, Bobby? You've managed to tally up significant complaints about your behaviour every time you exit your hotel room and," McKay checked his information, "fifteen from your hotel neighbours."
"THIS ISN'T FAIR! I WANNA HAVE MY FUN RIGHT NOW!"
"Sorry, sir, but your version of 'fun' is defined as 'criminal activity' in all states. I can not help you. We will refund your tour ticket cost, minus the fines for your infractions." McKay did some calculations. "You owe us Two Hundred and Fifty Thousand Dollars. Thank you for your patronage."
"I DIDN'T EVEN PAY THAT MUCH FOR A TICKET! I'M GOING TO SUE!"
"You're certainly welcome to try." He gestured for the bouncers to forcibly escort him onto a bus out of town. Unfortunately, recalcitrant examples like Bobby seemed to happen every other hour.