Not all the wildlife is too engrossed with other things. A young prostitute stands up from where she is sitting with her back against the wall. "Need some company, mister?" Her face and body are completely indicative of the sort of life that ends in places like this. BTLs, drugs of almost any kind, other addictions almost as bad. Things created by people to control other people and then abused. Given her apparent advanced state, the girl might have a few months remaining at best. She holds out a hand that shakes, but her breath does not smell of alcohol. "Maybe some cash? I could use some food from the diner across the street." There is, in fact, a diner of dubious quality across the street.
Entering the hotel, your senses are challenged to make sense of everything you see, hear, and smell. And it is probably best if you do not touch more than absolutely necessary. There is an old man behind a small counter paying more attention to some Urban Brawl match than on who is coming and going. An older woman sits on an ancient couch, which appears to be the only furniture in what you would be generous to call a lobby. She is smoking in clear violation of the no smoking sign just above her head, but who is really going to call the police down here for that infraction? The elevator is indeed out of order and as you pass the man behind the desk, he wakes up and slams his hand down on a bell in the small window that looks out on the lobby. "Hey, buddy. Twenty to go up. What room?" When you say 214, he settles down and wave you on. "Go on up. Already covered. I can see why you wanted to arrive separate. Must be desperate to want that slag." He croaks out a laugh and turns the volume up on his trid screen.
Knocking on the door to 214 brings a woman's voice in response. "Enter."
When you open the door, you see a dimly lit room beyond, with a small table in the middle. The woman is sitting on the far side of the table, silhouetted against the window. It is hard to make out any features in the light and how she is sitting. She says, "Do you have the 'link?" When you lift it up, you hear a woman's voice from off to your left. "Thank you, Mister Bennett. You may bring it to me. Please shut the door." You see another small table off to your left as a light flicks on. A woman very much like the one at the first table is sitting behind it and lowering a silenced Predator V. She lays it on the table and places her hands to either side, palms down. Please sit and we can talk." The woman is oriental, but certainly no beauty. Her face is hard, marked with a distinctive scar that runs from above her right eye across her nose and down her left cheek.
