♫
"So, we're really doin' this huh Fake?"

---

_{Studio City, Delmonica Theatre
0932HRs, January 1st 2020.}

The rain.

The rain never seems to get up, it's been raining non-stop for decades now. Nothing new in Night City, the sun never seemed to clip through the clouds. It always was dark out, except for the neon lights which glowed with a heavenly haze in the city streets below the movie theatre. The theatre itself has been abandoned for about five years, the mega corp - Belleview Pictures bought out all the small movie corps in Studio City leaving their mega-theatres to be the more prominent ones in coming years. The seats in the theatres had been rotting, the lobby trashed and full of graffiti and vandalism. If people didn't know that this was a movie theatre, then they wouldn't be able to tell. The theatre had seen its fair share of gang use, the smell of burned furniture, blood and lead fill the air along with a hefty aroma of drugs.

Things have changed though, the theatre is under new management.

A few gang members try to make a run for the doors but the cracking of an assault rifle cries out in the opposite direction of them. A Mexican man wearing a gunner's vest unloads into the group of four, dropping them immediately. The Mexican turns around checking other directions before turning back to the men who now lay on the ground. He walks up to one of them, an African-American man in his early thirties or so. He levels the muzzle to the man's head. "Tell Hellcat I send my regards." He snarls at him, pulling the trigger once - a flash and bang accompany it as the man's head jolts back with a powerful kick. He lays dead, a bullet between his eyes as his soul drifts off to the big body bank in the sky.

Hand on his phone, he speeds dials a number. "Sprint, I need clean up here - and call the gang. It's time we get this show on the road." Some hot pocket chewing and mumbling later, the conversation is over. He hangs up and makes another call, he speaks in a softer more westernized tone. "Hey, it's me. We're ready.". Body twitching was visible and some weak groans echoed out from around the movie theatre, it had been a costly battle that was for sure.

But the replacements were on the way, there wasn't anything to worry about.

---

_{Studio City, Delmonica street
1004HRs, January 1st 2020.}

The rain was still pouring down on the NCPD cruiser outside Delmonica Theatre, it had been parked there for a while. An idle drug deal was taking place in the alleyway adjacent to the sidewalk the cruiser was on, a few joy-girls walk the streets hollering and waving at the passersby on foot and to those that drive past. At the back of the movie theatre is a van "John's Cleanup" professionally painted on the side of the van, as men in white jumpsuits walk in and out with bags, chemicals, and cleaning tools. The front entrance to the theatre is plastered with a group of thugs gambling, throwing dice - playing cards for euro bucks.

News today spits on about the shootings that happened last night on Rockefeller Boulevard, The Slammers and Biff Hellcat still at large as NCPD presence increases across Studio City. In city news, the city council is looking into increasing the number of police androids on the streets, the project which is run by The Agency Corporation is to help reduce the amount of NCPD casualties while increasing the presence of the NCPD. This comes with the recent eco-terrorist attacks in the Upper Marina after SovWear allegedly abused animals in their testing of their new combat chip "The Shredder". The docks were bombed and fifty were killed, C-SWAT has been moved to a 24/7 watch on the docks until further notice.

On a NorCal level, State and Federal officials continue to argue over the legality of succeeding from the union. The Fed are ready to take action should the vote be unlawful, there is still time to debate on the legislature floor as lobby groups for and against the succession take the floor today. Both State and Federal Agencies are at a full time, heightened status as State Troopers are on the look out for FBI agents who are 'investigating' various parts of NorCal.

Coincidentally, counselor Jake Taggart of the Night City council is walking down the street with his bodyguard - a muscular looking man who stands at about seven feet tall in a suit. A man stands on the corner of the street in a full brown trench coat, he simply looks around the block as if someone were watching him.

Now, you've arrived at the street after getting a call to meet with the rest of the gang, it looks like a lot is going on.

Are you going inside?

Studio City, Delmonica street
1004HRs, January 1st 2020.

Ronan was at a party when they called. Well, it wasn't really a party party. It was a one-man party with some temporary guests. He was at a club with a girl on his lap and drugs in his system. The booth was comfy, the music loud, and the women pretty. But then he got the call. It yanked him out to this shitty theatre and out of his comfort. He longed for Destiny and the music, but here Ronan was. No lights, no music, no girls, just the drugs still in his system. They never satisfied, not anymore. He always needed more. Maybe he needed a new drug. He wanted that first time experience again, even if it usually made him feel sick to his stomach afterward.

Ronan stood in the street, taking in the scene. He knew it'd be a mess, it always was. He tapped his fingers against his knife and had his right hand on his gun. He was posturing, something he learned worked best for when you wanted people to leave you alone. He cleaned the remains of a bar peanut out of his mouth, his eyes twitching over everything. Ronan looked calm, but thanks to the drugs, his mind was moving a million miles an hour. He was hot, so his coat was open, showing off a clean white tank top. The heat was just another side-effect. That was what he was right now, a bundle of side-effects. Ronan was wearing a smirk, something different than his usual glare. He could blame that on the drugs too, but to be honest he felt pretty good right now. Even if the call removed him from his shelter like a crab leaving its shell, it was a welcome thing. He had something to do now, and a reason to go outside.

Now, there were two ways in. Ronan could go through the front, risking the attention of the thugs. It would get him a fight, but he was too high for that right now. The drugs removed his anger or at least turned up so many good feelings that it felt non-existent. He didn't want a fight tonight, or at least not at the moment. That left the better option, going through the back. Ronan made his way around the theatre, being careful not to draw the attention of the thugs. He felt like if he got in a fight, he would certainly win, but for the moment he wanted to bask in this feeling. For once, Ronan felt like he could think without his anger or violence getting in the way. For right now, he was focused on how to get in, not how to start a fight.

Ronan moved up to the back of the theatre. He wondered if he should wait for backup. He felt, as they say, like a million bucks, but that didn't mean he could face whatever surprises were inside. For all he knew, this could be a gang clean up, not the simple thing he was told it was. Ronan decided to wait. He leaned against the wall, jacket open and hand on his gun, waiting for at least one person to use as bait.

♫
"Well well, look what the dogs brought in."

---

_{Studio City, Delmonica Theatre
1010HRs, January 1st 2020.}

Fake ID said, an old world cigar hanging on the thin flaps of skin that were his lips. He brings a zippo to the end of his cigar, the flames from within the device burst into a hue of orange as they ignite the end of the cancer stick. Fake takes the cigar out of his mouth briefly to blow smoke towards the trio. The Cleaners continue to work within the establishment, moving bodies - mostly Slammers but some unfamiliar. "I guess you could say, this is a meet and greet." He smiles, his thick Mexican accent somewhat falters in his speech but it could be chalked up to age, or the radiation. He gives a small curt bow to the women before walking off to sit down on one of the steps. The Cleaners, about a dozen of them, still work away at the stains while some carry bodies away. Two Cleaners begin to clear near the trio, but they don't violate their personal space. The gang of gamblers out on the front doors are still visible, someone one as he raises his arms and everyone stands up to start complaining about it before they get back to playing while some walk off.

"Besides, we needed the place more than Hellcat's crew did. Sprinter likes old world movies, I like the space. We have a big gang, well - we did." He looks over to the bodies being pulled out of the auditoriums. "Sometimes, asking people to leave is too much work. I'm sure you know all about that. Regardless, the show will be on its way soon. Just don't eat the popcorn will ya?" The Theatre still reeks of blood and death, and now cigar smoke as the sounds of the Cleaners wane on into the back ground of the theatre. Fake's cigar emits a distinct black hue of smoke, his hand running over his light stubble.

"The gang could use a few more chicks anyway eh? Hard to work without a woman's guidance."

---

_{Studio City, Delmonica Street
1010HRs, January 1st 2020.}

"Ey yo G!"

Three black males approach the skinny pencil neck of a Russian in the alley adjacent to the police car, the men surround the man and all take turns giving the man a hand shake. In the midst of this, the Russian's trench coat explodes a small color of red. The man pushes the last man back "Boys! Boys! Not too rough!" chuckling the man waves the group to his old Darcy 98'. The four door stretched van is parked in the middle of the alleyway. "Lots of Dorph here for you and the boys, you think this is enough?" One of the men who wear about a dozen dreadlocks and a rasta beanie opens up one of the air hypos and inhales it. He immediately lunges for the man in a fit of rage, the other two - unprepared attempt to restrain him as the Russian applies a sedative.

"Aight PetersBURG, we'll take diz shits my man!"

The men continue to talk as they finalize the deal and the two men start reviving their compatriot.

"Ey yo fuck you bitch and your stupid ass fuckin' theatre who the fuck you think you is G? You walk thru a brothas' game? Fuck you, fuck your studio city holla wood lookin' ass you ain't got no movies, no juice, no fame. Fuck you, step on our cards again we'll merk you ya? Ya FUCK YOU."

Spits the largest black man in the group around the theatre as the entire group gets up as Vasilev walks through them to get into the theatre. The man shakes his head as he goes back to his card game, the group of about fourteen do the same as they pick up the dice once again.

Sooner after another man comes up to the group, spitting nonsense to him. Chaz Thunderchuck a scrawny five one punk stood up amongst the group of black guys "Ain't no way you choob, now scram before I bag you myself!". The group laughed and the rest of the crew stood up ready to post the FUCK up if shit was going to go down, some slut had already walked through the game once. Aint no mistakes twice, that's how the saying goes according to some.

The man walked away and everyone relaxed, he was probably a cop anyway no need for a C-SWAT knock this early.

---

_{Studio City, Delmonica Street
1015HRs, January 1st 2020.}

"Tag that guy."

Barks the female blond who sits in the driver's seat, mirrorshades covering her eyes as she sits in the police cruiser. The windows roll down an inch as the other office, a brute looking male sticks a paintball gun out the window - aiming for a skinny man in the alleyway. He pulls the trigger, shooting a red paintball - nanomachines at the mans coat. "He's tracked, we'll pass it to vice." Says the male officer. The woman breaks out into laughter before she presses her head against the steering wheel "Fuck those guys." The brute looks over to her "Yea shut it Fusco, hey look at that joy girl going into the theatre - the tits on her!" Fusco groggily looks up at the officer before he grabs her face and turns it to the theatre. "I see! I see! Fuckin' let go Sloan." She yelps as he lets go of her face, rubbing the now sore part of her once pale cheek. Sloan grabs the shades of her eyes, revealing her blood shot pupils. He puts the shades on his face, picking up her joint which has been stinking the car up for the longest time.

"Why are we out here again?" Fusco complains, her eyes now adjusting to the bodyguard and counselor who are walking from the end of Delmonica Street. "The weed right?" Sloan points to the Russian, who they just bought drugs from and tagged for the Vice unit. "No it's like.. Shots fired or somethin' - Hey is that Counsellor Taggart?!" Fusco's jaw drops, despite her high.

"Fuck us, right?" Sloan manages to get out before choking on his next inhale.