Warehouse party

Pushing the door open deposits you into a rather angry looking loud club. The music assails your senses and your heart rate increases as the beat tries to take you over. The sweat smell similarly attacks your nostrils as you push your way through the throngs of people following an undeniable urge to find a clearing to catch your breath and get your bearings. Finally you reach a railing on the side of an ascending staircase and pull yourself out of the mass of humanity. The stairs themselves are as choked off with people as the room, but standing on the edge you can catch your breath and look around.

The club seems to be an old warehouse and is simply packed with people. Many dressed similarly to yourself, many what you might call typical skinhead, with all the racist tats and accessories you would expect from such a person, and others with a more casual rock and roll poser style, most of these have a look of, “What am I doing here.” On their faces. Several places you can see a mosh pit, several more you see what is surely a fight, yet while everyone is clearly armed, you don’t see anyone going for a weapon, so the **** seems to be normal.

Scanning the crowd and the bar the hud on your glasses finally highlights someone in a business suit at a door to some interior building. “Hammer.” Along with his handle you now know you are to make contact and he will let you through the door and to the meeting beyond.

“Here goes nothing.” You say with a grin and crazily you crowd surf most of the way there. A series of shoves, tumbling moves, and creative dance spins later and you get to the door.

As you arrive you see the blue words that let you know that your chosen body has never been seen fully naked so you may continue as female or opt to be a small male, it also informs you to choose a handle as so far you are known only as, “The driver,” or other descriptive name, with little player interaction so far.