New member
Since the previous trouble, the Phoenix Club had tightened security, and its floorspace had seen an upgrade. There was still plenty of cigarette smoke, light drug use, and the scent of cocktails, now with the occasional bright phoenix glowing on the walls. Mixing with the hum of illuminated tables, waitresses, gutter rats, and street punks dripping in neon. The Tyger Claws' club had a bit more flash, drawing outsiders in to spend their eddies at the casino tables. The lighting and music had been refined, but the core of the place remained the same. In the backrooms, to those who knew, it was a stronghold, a meeting ground where power shifted hands over drinks, whispered negotiations, and silent or not-so-silent threats.
Nagashima Shinsui—Talon to the Claws, Naga to his friends—leaned against the back wall, arms crossed, watching the room pass by like routine. He wasn't seated at the main table, where mid-level Tyger Claws like Kazuo Saito, Sugita Nara, Kondo Oniji, Fukuyama Shuko, and Hiraoka Au discussed business, or in the backrooms, where one of the senior leaders watched on the cameras. Seeing Saito out of the corner of his eye, he exhaled slowly. Not yet. There'd be a day. Instead, he stood at the edges, observing and learning.
A few street-level punks lined the bar, loud-mouthed and disrespectful, bright liquor swelling their egos.
Talon rolled his shoulders, loosening up, feeling the weight of the mantis blades hidden beneath his skin—an unshakable presence, like the katana's on his back. He wasn't here to talk; he was here to watch and help decide.
First…
Sugita looked from him to the bar. She didn't need to say two words. Talon moved, stepping toward the punks. The ones that knew stopped immediately. The ones that didn't well… One pulled a knife, setting his palm flat on the counter like he was about to play a game of chance and cut up their bar in the process.
Talon's hand came down over the wrist of the youngest and loudest.
"Dameda." Don't do it.
The punk looked up. He and his friends hesitated, but it wasn't Talon they were looking at anymore, it was the dozen bodies now watching them from around the room. He was only twenty-one himself, but they understood where they were. One bad move was enough. Attack one Claw, attack them all. The punk nodded, slipping the knife away. Sometimes they learned easily, and sometimes it was a harder lesson, like the next one.
A message came through Talon's earpiece. Cherry Horizon, his netrunner friend sat at a far table, eyes locked on an invisible feed in her optics, monitoring the meeting.
It was about to go down.
A fixer, a corpo, and others had arrived, all moving toward the main table. They had a rat, and they had to find out who.
Last edited: