The bouncer, arms crossed and standing still like a statue, barely moved his eyes up and down to look over the next guy in line. An abhuman dreg like any other that want to get in. Scruffy gray fur, faux leather bomber jacket, cigarette between his teeth and — of course — a silent simmering scowl. A typical wannabe bad boy. The only interesting thing he had going on was that chrome arm, even if tarnished. The fridge of a man had let enough of his kind in for the night — younger too, for any gals into freaks — so if the guy wanted to make a scene, he was ready to put him in his place. Always good to make an example for any other troublemakers waiting in line. "We're full. Piss off, fleabag." He provoked, expecting to ignite the scowling fella and give him a reason to get it over with.
The wolfish man spat his cig onto concrete. "Funny, my friend here says I've got a reservation," he said, reaching inside his jacket. The guard at the entrance uncrossed his arms, trying to make a split-second decision whether to tackle the abhuman or bail before a bloodbath begins. He failed — the man pulled out his hand before he could decide. In it, held between index and middle fingers, was a crumpled 100 dollar bill. The bouncer deflated like a balloon, tension escaping his body.
"So what's it gonna be chum?" Said the scruffy man, waving the cash around like a bait on a hook. The note was snatched from his hands and the statue of a man stepped aside, attempting to keep his unfazed facade. Hundred bucks is hundred bucks, after all. With that, Jack got in to "The Underpass" — a longstanding shifty nightclub where shady deals were as common as techno beats. One of the oldest in the city, named back when the highway above it was more than just a set of crumpling arches. A melting pot of street crooks, slimy businessmen, cartel representatives and regular club-hoppers. Simultaneously best and worst place for an undercover cop to be.
As he stepped out of the narrow corridor leading outside, he was immediately washed over by the pulsating violet lights and the rhythmic banging of the music, the heavy bass going through everything like an X-ray, vibrating the very marrow of one's bones. After the cannonade of audio-visual stimuli, came the stuffy air. Filled with tobacco, alcohol, and the dozens upon dozens of different perfumes, colognes and sweats. All congregating in the club's heart — the dance floor — filled to the brim with people paying little to no attention to the beat, either too focused on leering at their dance partners or completely zoning out from whatever stimulants flowed in their veins. Towering above and overlooking this thicket of moving bodies were the individual cabins, paned with one-way-tinted glass for privacy. Stacked so high, that Jack had to tilt his head all the way back to get even catch a glimpse of the ceiling. The quality and price of service rose exponentially with height, leaving the lower levels for plebs and small-timers, and the top for
THE TOP. From bottom floor, the VIP booths looked harder to reach than stars in the sky, regardless if you were a honest citizen, a crook or a lawman in disguise.
One step at a time, the wolfish cop thought as he lowered his gaze back to the ground level and began to meander his way towards the bar. Taking the whole wall opposite of entrance, its pale blue light shined like a beacon among the sea of purple. A few people nursed their drinks, but most came and went, hands full of shots, cocktails or pints of beer. Just as Jack reached the counter, his trained eyes spotted a small packet "subtly" changing hands between patrons, in plain sight of the nearby staff. Jack took their example and also pretended not to notice.
"Hi, what can I get you?" one of the bartenders asked.
"I'll take a shot," Jack replied. "Half part vodka, half part rum, one part whiskey."
"Coming up!" The bartender spun around and picked up the appropriate bottles. The cocktail wasn't Jack's drink of choice, but was essential for this whole operation — it was the only way for his informant to identify him. A preset sign, with a matching countersign. The meeting was planned with utmost care and secrecy, with neither party knowing the identity of the other, taking place in the lion's den to throw off any suspicion. It could very much be an elaborate trap. Another message from the mob: "We're running circles around the law and there's nothing you feds can do." with a cop's life for a period.
Yet, deep down, he felt the risk was worth it. When Jack had first heard what the snitch claimed to know, he jumped straight in — he couldn't pass such an opportunity. Even if half of what they claimed was true, it would be another rung in the ladder to reach those in VIP booths at the top. All that time spent on following even the most dubious of leads, all those sleepless nights, stakeouts, tails, red herrings... It would work. It had to work. It no longer was about delivering justice. Then again, was it ever? The phantom pain was always there. He replaced his arm with a cybernetic one, but no technology could replace what his soul lost all those years ago.
The glass clinked as the finished drink was placed in front of Jack. In return, he fished out another bill form his jacket. "Keep the change and keep 'em coming," he said, sliding the note to the bartender and picked up the shot glass. Now, all he could do was to wait for the countersign. He chucked the alcohol down his throat and leaned back on the counter. For possibly his last drink, it went down with odd smoothness.
***
Something with a bit longer build up that could be played for either long or short term, depending on how we want the story to unfold. Obviously, the set up is for your character to be the informant, but who they actually are and what's their deal here is up to you. The club's manager, wanting to bail the shady life? A corporate business woman, trying to get her competition in hot water? Or is this really a red herring, set up by a mob lady so she can personally meet the persistent investigator who has been snooping around? In any case, I'm feeling adventurous, so wouldn't mind you continuing in-character from where I left off, but if you have any questions or suggestions, feel free to write to me in OC first.
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