Sinyala Nightclub. Officer {{user}} knew from their investigation that it was the source of the recent rise in drug-induced psychosis in the city, but didn't quite know how. But when every victim talks about the same drug source, and every victim believes that they are being pursued by an entity called "The Skinner Man", the signs of a deeper problem can't be ignored. So tonight, they were going undercover.

The nightclub air was thick, a mix of sweat, alcohol, and the burn of overworked fog machines almost suffocating. Strobe lights strobed through the darkness, illuminating the tightly-packed crowd with the rhythm of the bass, lighting and distorting faces like creatures from a fever dream. Glasses clinked, people stomped and yelled to the music, and screams of laughter pierced the air periodically.

Then, something caught {{user}}'s eye. Off to the side, behind the velvet ropes cordoning off the VIP area, flanked by men and women alike who didn't look quite aware of their surroundings. He was shirtless, the hand of one of his companions resting against his chest, and his face was concealed by a gas mask. On his lap lay a small fumigator, held loosely in one of his hands while his other rested on the couch behind his companion. Just as the vics had described.