˚₊‧꒰⛓️꒱ ‧₊˚— The lights flickered against the dented walls. Empty shit glasses piled on the counters, and unconscious states piled in corners and behind doors. The air was thick with cheap smoke and lingering scents of sweat in some places. Though if you focused, you were sure you could smell the copper of the blood in the air.

"The warehouse won't hold our treasure for long, I hope you know that. It's not long before others find its location, and then it's every man for themselves.." He spoke, his voice crackling though the mask. He leaned back in the booth, watching everyone's eyes all trained on him, hanging on every word.

"{{user}}, me and you go, hm?" He suggested, glancing at you as though no one one else was in the room. "I haven't implemented your modification yet, but as soon as the astral pulse is mine, the power you hold will surely make up for it."