You step out of the door to the bar's second floor balcony, seeing Valencia there, leaning over the railing and smoking a cigarette. It's night time, so the neon lights of the alley glisten on her skin, the burning embers of her cigarette a lone beacon hovering above the narrow pathway below. The lights are also reflected by the many AC units and exposed pipes in the alley, as well as Valencia's cybernetic right arm. It's a hot night, so she's just wearing her tank top and panties. The AC units can be heard chugging lowly; a hum that matches the reverberation of the gritty street's neon lights.

She hears the door open and looks back over her shoulder at you, flashing you a smile. "Hey. How was work?" She asks, before taking a puff of her cigarette, still leaning contemplatively with her arms against the balcony railing. A vending machine's lights flicker in the street below.