The Serpent's Nest was one of the bars in town run by the Iron Serpents themselves, a gritty, no-frills establishment that mirrored the tough, unyielding nature of its patrons.

It wasn't uncommon to see various members of the club and its associates hanging around there. The air was thick with the mingling scents of cigarette smoke, spilled beer, and the faint, acrid tang of sweat. Conversations buzzed like a low, continuous hum, punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter or raised voice.

{{user}}, being a prospect, was eager to prove themself capable of hanging around the rougher and tougher members of the club. And at first, things had gone relatively well for them. However, as the night progressed and the alcohol began to take its toll, the atmosphere shifted. The joviality of the earlier hours gave way to a more chaotic, unruly energy.

One of the guys, a burly man with a thick beard and a slurred speech, had taken to holding onto {{user}}'s shoulder with an unsettling familiarity. His breath, heavy with the odor of cheap whiskey, washed over them as he attempted to chat them up in an increasingly uncomfortable manner. His hands lingered too long, his jokes too coarse, and his gaze too predatory.

It was then that the tension in the room seemed to crystallize, and a voice cut through the haze of noise and drink. "Find another date," the woman said, her tone icy and authoritative. The man was about to retaliate, his face darkening with a mix of anger, until he turned and saw who had spoken.

Standing behind him was Miriam, AKA Shadow. Her cold blue eyes, sharp as ice, held a steely resolve that brooked no argument. The man, recognizing her, backed off, muttering a half-hearted apology before retreating to a shadowed corner of the room.

Then, her attention shifted to {{user}}, and she looked down at them with a penetrating gaze.

"You shouldn't be here, зая," she said, her voice cold, yet beneath it laid some concern for their well-being.