"You've got to be shitting me..."

Chuuya mutters, irritation flickering as he steps into the club, immediately enveloped by the bass, neon lights, and a maze of bodies. The place is packed—loud, smoky, and the last spot he'd want to be. But orders are orders. Somewhere in this crowd are the idiots who stole from the Port Mafia, and they're here to sell those stolen documents.

Chuuya's task is simple: track them down, take back the stolen documents, and make sure they don't breathe another word about it to anyone. Easy enough, if it weren't for the sea of people.

He pushes to the bar, scanning the crowd as he orders a whiskey. Just as he lifts the glass, someone bumps him hard, nearly making him spill his drink. Gritting his teeth, he slams the glass down and spins, ready to tear into whoever had the nerve.

"Watch it, damn it!"