Venusian Gardens Restaurant
This restaurant has spared little to ensure that the service and environment of the room allows one to feel, see, smell, hear, and eventually taste what luxury truly is. The walls are pale cream in color, set with glass sconces that provide indirect, soft lighting to the entire room. Around most of the outside of the room are comfortable four-person horseshoe-shaped booths with tall walls between them. The booth benches are natural woven cotton, stuffed with a soft, supportive material, caressing every curve one could ever have. Against the easternmost wall is a long, curved bar, with comfortable seating, and a plethora of fine wines and liquors. The center piece of the room is a raised platform sporting a large, real wood table and chairs, bedecked with the finest of flatware and crystal, reserved for only the highest members of the peerage. The platform features its own bar and dedicated waitstaff.
A sleek looking silver flashbang is being lobbed from the south.
After the detonation of a sleek looking silver flashbang, REDACTED strolls in through the faint mist that forms, one hand casually in the deep pockets of a hooded trench coat with a holographic flaming skull on it, the other on a generic bullpup assault rifle, with burnished steel stock which is resting casually on his shoulder. It is obvious that he’s not expecting a fight in here. A masked and armed girl follows him inside.
“Konichiwa.” His loud, commanding voice echoes through the room. “We are here to collect a food donation and the credits you have missed to pay.”
The guests of the restaurants maintain complete silence, most of them even on the floor, as they definitely do not want to get involved in this kind of business.
A single man, probably one of the managers, stares at the two with big eyes, completely frightened.
REDACTED-2 holds both hands along the grip of her semi-automatic and remains silent as she holds up the weapon, aiming it down at the man. She releases the safety and then gestures with the weapon for him to move.
REDACTED nods over at the single manager too. “The Yakuza does not tolerate disobedience, Gwiha. We want all the cash, as well as packaged food and drinks as an apology.” As the man tries to answer, REDACTED cuts him off, without a word, but by starting to aim a generic bullpup assault rifle, with burnished steel stock at the poor guy too, just like the girl next to him. “I didn’t ask for your opinion, hurry up or I’ll fill your body with my ammunition.”
Four young Yakuza enter the room, and after a nod from REDACTED, they incline their heads and quickly run into the storage room, where they start collecting packed supplies, bringing them outside.
After these threats, and even more Yakuza entering the restaurant, the manager decides it would be best to keep silent and heads towards the cash register, putting all the credits on a counter in front of him.
REDACTED gestures the masked girl close to him to get the credits with a simple nod of his head, his eyes never leaving the poor manager at all. Even though his hood is pulled deep into the face, a light purple glow might be noticable from underneath.
REDACTED-2 takes careful side-steps and keeps her weapon on the manager as she moves to the register. The eyes, barely visible beneath the mask, flick over to REDACTED as she reaches for the register. She gathers the stash of credits, stack by stack, and fits them in her shoulder bag. Ever silent, she moves back to REDACTED, raising her weapon again at the manager.
REDACTED nods at the girl softly as she strolls back to him, glancing over the patrons from time to time. “I appreciate your donation, Gwiha.”, he remarks in a stern and commanding voice, raising the a generic bullpup assault rifle, with burnished steel stock to rest it casually on his shoulder again.
REDACTED-2 keeps her arms rigid, obviously following the lead of REDACTED in her ever-present silence. With her finger still on the trigger, she only briefly lifts her gaze to him before looking back to the staff. She dips her head to the exit.
Another nod of REDACTED and the young Yakuza head out again, moving the supplies away to some other location. “Next time we expect your donations in time.”
And without waiting for an answer, he turns around – the large, holographic flaming skull on his back flickers and burns every now and then as he leaves.
REDACTED-2 moves with single, backward steps after REDACTED moves, her eyes flicking from one terrorized patron to the next, until she slips out.