They're the only thing brightening up the otherwise super dreary windowless brick building that's threatening to crumble apart at any second. A sign reading "SUGAR APPLE" tells you this is the place.
Your group promptly judges the Handler for picking THIS place when he probably had better options. He simply shrugs. "A bit of lower class meat in your diet isn't that bad, is it?"
Father Fucking Above. Frank clears his throat with some wet, heavy coughs but otherwise, no one else responses. The Handler gets the hint and drops the topic real quick. "Look, let's just get this over with."
The line to the only door in and out of the club goes all the way down the street. Humans, Androids, even a Drone or two are piling up in anticipation for 'low class meat'. Three bodyguards with tribal, faintly glowing tattoos plastered all over their faces stand by the door. They slowly check and analyze every single person who wants in.
One of them immediately spots the Handler and his group. He holds his hand out as if expecting something. The Handler tosses over a small hunk of gemstone over to him. You immediately recognize it as a Sunstone Chunk given its bright orange hue.
He points a thumb at the door, gesturing him and your group inside. While the crowd of pent up men obviously whines at this they can't really do anything as you are led inside of the club. Let's hope you can get this over with already.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8BwSklxLiCw - SUGAR APPLE
You already hate this place.
The whole club reeks of cigarette smoke, sweat, spoiled beer and vomit. Every inch of it is drenched in bright, flashing neon lights that's making it hard to make out anything in the club's layout or who's even here. An obnoxious high energy sound is blaring over the speakers on a constant, incessant loop and you swear the tone is getting higher and higher every second.
The main attraction is, as expected, several gaunt and sickly women in gaudy, revealing outfits having the time of their life (wait no they look fucking miserable) grinding up against metal poles installed onto the main stage at the center of the room.
Dozens of men who have to be in their late 40s at minimum are sitting around the stage in very uncomfortable looking chairs. Their eyes are glazed over from a combination of inebriation and what you can only assume is being hypnotized by the lights, music, and eye candy.
You can't even detect anything with them via MIND READ.
For the rest of the club? There's a small little bar tucked away in the corner with a bartender who looks like he's a bad day away from killing himself, a small lounge area for people to smoke and drink at, and a few 'private session' rooms that make you heave just thinking about it.
There's also, oddly enough, a restaurant in here? Well, that's giving it too much praise, it's really just a few plastic tables and chairs scattered around a counter where a greasy dude is selling cheap burgers and fries.
