Banshee

The Banshee lives up to your every expectation. The brick facade is completely unremarkable, with a broken neon sign announcing the “Ba sh e” is open for business. The heavy Steel door pulls open. a common feature for establishments more interested in exiting clients than entering ones. There are no windows. Muffled music seeps from under the door.
Entering the bar, you are slightly more impressed. Although last year’s favorite tunes blast from a pair of decaying speakers, the music is clear and loud. The door opens into a narrow hall with a single low window to your left. At the far end of the hall, perhaps twelve feet away, is a steel and wire mesh gate, with a single crossbar that can only be operated from the other side. A single human bouncer at the gate tells you to check your hardware with the dwarf at the window. The man is unarmed, unless you count the cyber eyes and matching set of razors protruding from the back of his hands. As you move to comply, a gritty Dwarf muscles your heavier equipment into rusty metal racks. The Dwarf hands you a receipt and flips a thumbs-up sign to the bouncer, who opens the gate.
The Banshee is obviously a meeting place. There is no dance floor to speak of, and there is no room for any type of stage. The music is canned, piped in to the bar to cover the inhabitants’ conversations. There are several large tables in the center of the room, surrounded by deeply padded vinyl chairs. The only bar is directly in front of you. As you look in, you can see several scantily clad waitresses moving slowly through the thin crowd.

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Banshee

Street Sweepers Phayt Phayt