Salvation, Making the world a better place Options

[WinterRat1]

Sub-Game 3 of LITS: Salvation IC thread

2230 Jan 4 2063- Paradigm Shift
Touristville, Redmond

A long sleek limo slowly pulled up to the curb of the Paradigm Shift. The line outside the club was quite long, indicating that despite the newness of the place, word was spreading quickly about it. Street punks eager to check out the latest place to party mingled side by side with both corporates and their younger equivalent, the yuppies, eager to slum it down here in Redmond.

Climbing out of the limo, an elderly Chinese man slowly stepped out of the door. Not with weakness borne upon him by age, but rather with that deliberate dignity of those who know that they have all the time in the world, and if they don’t, they’ll make that time. Glancing about casually, he nodded approval. As he had heard, security was tight. Another glance. Very tight.

Striding towards the door deliberately and with purpose, a solitary old man, he nonetheless radiated an aura that said, ‘I belong here.’ The large troll bouncer, in a suit, no less, raised up a hand to stop him. “Sorry Gramps, the line starts there.” He pointed a large finger down towards the end of the line.

With a thin smile, the old man looks up at the troll towering over him and says simply, “Mr. Fan.” He doesn’t need to say anything else. The troll immediately changes his tone. Standing aside and moving the chain blocking off entrance, he gestures, “My apologies Mr. Fan. Please sir, come right in. They’ve been expecting you. Your usual room is ready.” At the shouts and mutters that come at the preferential treatment, the troll glares at them, reminding the assembled crowd that he decides who is and is not good enough to get into one of the hottest up and coming new clubs in Seattle.

Striding through the long security corridor, Mr. Fan smiles at the security guards at the end of the hall and slowly opens his suit jacket, just enough to show that he’s not packing any heat. He knows the sensors will bear him out as well. Nodding at each other and then to him, the guards step aside and let him in. Without hesitation, he heads to the elevators on the side wall, which he then rides to the second floor.

With a nod to the bartender, who gestures to his usual room, Mr. Fan strides in, checking it out. A brief smile of satisfaction. Just as he had arranged. That was one reason he’d selected this place. Security was supposed to be tight, and the place lived up to its quickly growing rep. Taking a seat, he settled into the cushy chair. After ordering a drink via the intercom, he sat back, and waited for the runners to show up. There was nothing else to do. Just wait.