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monitor next to him. He looks down.
    “How d… are you,” he barely reads, pausing over the last word.
    “Sister,” I fill in for him.
    “Sister,” he repeats like a wayward student.
    “You are the filth of the earth! Demon king? Ha! Rama is a God, a god that will destroy you. You are nothing! You thinkwith your fine clothes and your many heads that you can rule the universe, you don’t even have power over me,” I screech, spitting on the floor to the left of him. “You are nothing,” I improvise. “A dark-skinned peon on this universe. The true rulers will inherit the earth, and nothing you do will stop them.”
    I’m laying it on thick, my screeching sending showers of spittledown on the dudeand I can tell he’s getting irritated. But I’m on a roll. I know his next line reads: “Sister, you have betrayed our kind and I cannot let this pass.” He looks down and opens his mouth, but I cut him off .
    “You are the betrayer, the betrayer of your people to lead us astray like this. Rama will turn you into a little girl, he will use his Monkey God to cut off your balls and then I’ll be moreof a man than you! In fact, I always was more of a man than you, brother.”
    It feels good to stand above him, my clothes ripped and my blood on fire. The Ravana is angry now and he reaches for one of my legs to pull me off the pedestal, but the shield is up and it shocks his hand, making him jump back.
    I laugh at him loudly, but I know the next screen advises him that it is his time to disfigureme. He struggles to read the screen, but then suddenly he figures it out and turns to me excitedly, revenge in his eyes. I continue to laugh at him, belittle him. The hologram sword emerges from the floor and the pedestal sinks me to the ground.
    The Ravana line reads: “Sister, I worshipped you more than any woman, but you have brought this shame on yourself. I cannot look on you, and no manshall look on you.”
    I humble myself, begging Ravana’s forgiveness but raise myself enough that he can swing the hologram sword at me, pretending to chop off my breasts, nose and ears, blood gushing up from special pipes in my costume. When he looks down, all he sees is my hair whipping about in rivulets of red.
    While I am screaming and thrashing, the monitors start flashing: “Thank You forPlaying at Exile! Please exit to Account Kiosk!”
    I continue to thrash on the floor until I hear him exit, then I get up, gather my parts and take the back way to the dressing rooms again. I have fifteen minutes to rest, get a new costumeon and make it out again. On a good night, I’ll play with eight clients—on a slow night four or five.
    I’m drinking an energy elixir and flipping throughmy costumes, when Val comes in.
    “You need to stick to the script,” he says.
    “Why are you watching me work?”
    “I watch everybody work. This is my club and I want you to stick to the script.”
    “So, I improvise a little. They love it.”
    “I’m not messing around Sapna, you stick to the script or I’m switching you to a job that you can handle,” he huffs. “I don’t need you getting hurt andcalling attention to this place.”
    “I know this is just cause that Backlasher Anita is sucking your dick and wants my job.” He ducks his head at the mention of her.
    “Don’t call her that,” Val says.
    “Of course, you would defend her on that point. What’s your real name Val? Raj? Oh no, wait, maybe it’s Vivek? That was always a popular name for an Indian boy.”
    “You don’t know anythingabout me,” Val shakes his head. “I’m just trying to look out for you.”
    “What? Are you joking? I have enough shit going on without this. If I was losing percentages, if people were asking for something else, that’s one thing, but I do a good job, so leave me alone.”
    “Sapna, look…I…don’t know what’s going on with you, but don’t do it,” Val says seriously, looking down. His cheeks are red,even through his dark skin, and