The night wrapped Neon City in a cold embrace, the streets glistening with a fresh layer of rain that reflected the city's garish lights. Max's coat clung to him, damp and heavy, as he made his way through the labyrinthine alleyways. The smell of rain mingled with the acrid stench of urban decay, creating a heady mix that gnawed at his senses. He was on the hunt, and the name Vargas echoed in his mind like a curse.
His steps led him to a bar nestled in the shadows of a dilapidated building. "The Black Orchid" was a place where secrets festered and deals were made in hushed tones. Max pushed through the heavy door, the smoky air inside hitting him like a wave. The patrons were a motley crew of lost souls and dangerous men, each with their own story written in the lines of their faces.
