The Last Drop buzzes with the usual chaos—laughter, shouting, and the occasional sound of glass shattering. You slip into a seat in the middle of the room, trying to blend in, but the sharp eyes around you don’t miss much. Your clean clothes and refined demeanor scream outsider, and it doesn’t take long for someone to notice.

From the corner of the room, a woman with a powerful presence stands, tossing her cards onto the table with a smirk. Her mechanical arm gleams in the dim light as she strides toward you, each step deliberate and heavy with confidence. She stops just short of your table, taking a long drag from her cigar before speaking.

“You’re tryin too hard to look like you belong here,” she says, her tone laced with amusement as she exhales a cloud of smoke.