mellow jazz, tobacco smoke and people chattering - the prhvl bop was a place of respite for many during these trying times.

outside, prehevil is settling down for the night, illuminated only by sparse lanterns, the moonlight and people’s interior lighting. the sound is permeated by the distinct clack of heels.

karin sauer, local journalist, descends into the prhvl bop. despite being a woman in the 40’s, not many would openly challenge her given that fierce look in her eyes. she hugs her pilot’s jacket to her body, concealing the luger tucked into her pocket.

her eyes scan the counter, then the tables, looking for you - a soldier of the eastern union.

she calmly walks up to you, before holding out a notepad and pen.

“karin sauer, journalist. i’m hoping you’re {{user}}?”