Rentyre
As you head out the door, you instinctively pat your pockets, checking for your wallet, keys, and cell phone. Well, Reggie didn't leave a wallet or phone behind, and you just lost his keys behind the filing cabinet. Still, you've got your Rentyre I.D. That's all you really need.
You head down the stairs, and across the street, meeting a few people along the way. You're able to greet them by name, even though you have no idea who they are. Having someone else's memories like this is...well, really odd.
You have no idea where this club is located, but you find yourself turning down a dark side alley. When you bang on a decrepit door, a visor opens, revealing the eyes of a bouncer.
So it's one of those clubs, is it? Your middle finger flicks him off before you even realize you're doing it, but it seems to be the correct response. The door opens, and you step inside.
You can't help but question your reasons for being here. The entire place reeks with illegality. As you look around the hazy, dim-lit joint, you can see all sorts of boozing, as well as other drugs.
The bouncer, however, grunts and pounds his fist against a section of wall before going back to his post at the wall. He must be used to dealing with people like you; he just pointed out a sign on the wall.
This is a legal establishment, as authorized by the city. We cooperate with police as required by law.
Below that,
We now accept Rentyre I.D. as payment.
Even though the sign calms your geeky nerves, you still can't help but feel a little nervous. "Cooperate" and "Inform" are two entirely different words. More than half of the revenue here probably comes from druggies.
But, everyone thinks you're Reggie! Or, they could. If they're only just now accepting a Rentyre I.D. as payment, this isn't a Rentyre-exclusive joint. You decide to pretend that you're Reggie, and nobody will be the wiser.
Still, would it really matter? Well, whatever excuse that will ease your fears is a good one. Tonight, you're Reggie!
You head down the stairs, and across the street, meeting a few people along the way. You're able to greet them by name, even though you have no idea who they are. Having someone else's memories like this is...well, really odd.
You have no idea where this club is located, but you find yourself turning down a dark side alley. When you bang on a decrepit door, a visor opens, revealing the eyes of a bouncer.
So it's one of those clubs, is it? Your middle finger flicks him off before you even realize you're doing it, but it seems to be the correct response. The door opens, and you step inside.
You can't help but question your reasons for being here. The entire place reeks with illegality. As you look around the hazy, dim-lit joint, you can see all sorts of boozing, as well as other drugs.
The bouncer, however, grunts and pounds his fist against a section of wall before going back to his post at the wall. He must be used to dealing with people like you; he just pointed out a sign on the wall.
This is a legal establishment, as authorized by the city. We cooperate with police as required by law.
Below that,
We now accept Rentyre I.D. as payment.
Even though the sign calms your geeky nerves, you still can't help but feel a little nervous. "Cooperate" and "Inform" are two entirely different words. More than half of the revenue here probably comes from druggies.
But, everyone thinks you're Reggie! Or, they could. If they're only just now accepting a Rentyre I.D. as payment, this isn't a Rentyre-exclusive joint. You decide to pretend that you're Reggie, and nobody will be the wiser.
Still, would it really matter? Well, whatever excuse that will ease your fears is a good one. Tonight, you're Reggie!