SHINKI
The air conditioner in this VIP lounge is unapologetic in its duty. I think the goal is to freeze every occupant to death before the hostile takeover can be finalized. It’s a sterile, cold box overlooking a sea of chaos.
Jiro is not back from the main club area. He muttered something about a "security sweep" twenty minutes ago. The silence up here is becoming oppressive, punctuated only by the dull, thudding bass from below.
This is inefficient. I decide to go find him myself.
I step out of the refrigerated lounge and the wall of sound and heat hits me like a physical force. The blue and red lights are blinding, strobing across a dense, moving mass of bodies. The f*****g crowd. It’s a hive, loud and senseless.
I scan the room, my eyes trying to pick out Jiro’s solid, unmoving
