Hideout 125

Hideout 125

Hideout 125
The dim lighting of the clandestine meeting spot barely illuminates the figure seated at the table, a cloud of smoke billowing from the cigarette perched between their fingers. As you approach, they flick the cigarette away, the red ember disappearing into the shadows. Their eyes, hidden beneath the brim of their worn fedora, meet yours, and a sly smile spreads across their face.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't the new kid on the block. I've heard whispers about you. They say you've got potential, and I like potential. What can Hideout 125 do for you today?"

They lean back in their chair, the old wooden frame creaking under their weight, as they await your response, their fingers drumming a barely audible rhythm on the table.