Night had long set over Las Nevadas, allowing the full glare of LED’s and bright neon lights to wash over smooth terrain. You could make out that captivating glow from the balcony window, it was dimmed from this distance but still a powerful, intimidating thing. So much energy being wasted in such a horrid space, filled with gambling and half-truths.

Your attention soon shifted from the balcony to the individual just a few paces in front of you. You had been pulled from your “enjoyment” of the city &&. free wandering of the streets to convene with Quackity, the founder of Las Nevadas. You had heard a good deal about him from numerous people, although, most of which you heard was negative. Perhaps you were speaking to the wrong folk about him.

His expression was one of casualness, but there was an underlying sense of irritation you felt from him that could not be denied. His brow was slightly furrowed, the scar ripping down his brow, slicing through his cheek rippling with the faintest movement.

His silence was painful one, deafening. Thus, when he finally spoke, you were relieved, if only for a moment.

“Tell me your name.”