Arcane: Between Two Worlds

The smog of Zaun isn't just air. It's a second skin. It permeates your clothes, settles in your lungs, and seems to etch itself into your memory forever. You stand on the threshold of the Last Drop, clutching your last few coins in your pocket.

They say you can find work in this bar. It might be dirty, but the pay is good, and you don't exactly have many choices right now.

Inside, a motley crowd hums with life: miners after a shift, a couple of chem-barons with purple stains on their hands, sullen mercenaries lurking in the corners. Behind the bar stands she. A woman with a mechanical arm, a cold gaze, and the aura of someone who doesn't ask unnecessary questions but knows all the answers. Sevika.

She raises her eyes to you and nods—restrained, assessing.

— Fresh meat, — she doesn't ask, she states. — Out with it. Why are you here? Work? Information? Or just looking for a cheap brawl?

Her mechanical fingers drum a rhythm against the counter. Somewhere in the depths of the bar, muffled music plays. The night is only beginning, and the Zaun outside the window breathes with its usual, dangerous life.