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"So this is the place I'm supposed to meet the client?"

Trent murmured into his communicator as he made his way into the casino. It was a few days after the demon incident, and while most of Lost Haven was still recovering from the assault on their town, some of the richer districts had been relatively untouched by hellfire. One of said places was an area surrounding a tall, glamorous casino known as the High Spire. Trent glanced up momentarily at it before entering, stopping just to appreciate the absurd concept that even when Hell itself had access to Earth, they did not even bother to crush dens of sin such as the blinking, flashy establishment of greed and gluttony before him. 

"This is where the message said to go, so I wouldn't keep our client waiting, Trent."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm goin'."

Trent adjusted his black jacket before entering the building, flashing an ID at the bouncer and shuffling by him before the muscle-bound fool was able to question if he was even on the guest list. Even when Trent stepped into the building he stood out almost instantly, his lack of fancy attire becoming almost immediately apparent to the crowd of suits and dresses as he was garbed in the most mundane of clothing, jeans, a t-shirt, and a jacket. Many of the patrons scoffed and turned their nose up at him, seemingly disgusted at the plain-looking figure that stepped into their fancy gambling home.

"Well...the client sure knows how to pick meeting spots." Trent murmured into his communicator again as he walked back the many slot machines, full of high rollers and some older folks spinning away their retirement funds. "Where exactly did the client want to meet in here?"

"The instructions were specific; third floor, private lounge, sit at table 35B, and when the waiter comes to ask you for your drink, as for a Black Death Cocktail."

"Ew, god, I don't want that. That's friggin infused with Everclear!"

"That's the signal for the client, so I'm told."

"Alright, alright, fine." He responded. "Did the message say exactly what the job was, by any chance? Or who is asking?"

"No and no." Warden sighed, the sound of his chair creaking echoed through the communication. "And I've been trying to track down the original IP all morning, I keep getting rerouted and overloaded, the few times I got close I keep running into highly-encrypted passkeys, which I can't break."

"What? But you're Warden, you can hack through anything!" Trent was now hoofing it up the stairs, scooting around some more patrons, his eyes catching a very attractive woman in a black dress as he passed. She responded with a small 'hmph' and a scowl before continuing on her path. Her loss.

"Well I can't, not with this." Warden gave a flat reply. "So deal with it, a job is still a job, and this client's looking to pay handsomely. We may be flying in blind, but with the numbers he's offering, I'd overlook the secrecy to see what he wants."

"But Warden, what if it's a trap?"

If Warden had any feeling outside of 'monotone' the noise he made regarding that response could have been conceived as a laugh. "And what would they do, shoot you?"

"Yeah, yeah, fair point."

The conversation between the two died down as soon as Trent made it to the third floor, and when he actually surveyed the room, his mouth actually dropped in awe. Even in terms of the first floor, this place was classy. The room was a cozy, warm crimson, lit by cream colored lights. The floor was a dense marble tile, lined with gold and patterned up to the marble columns lining the room. An orchestra played quietly in the corner, their spot in the room hollowed out to produce their sound across the room. 

"Holy..." Trent murmured, making his way to the chairs. His hand ran along the large chair at 35B, the authentic leather smoothing against his hand. He gave a grin of satisfaction as he plopped down on the seat, leaning back to enjoy the comforting padding of the chair, he felt like he was sinking into a cloud.

Clearly, he was now playing in the big leagues.

Before he could get too comfortable, however, he was greeted by a soft, polite voice. "Hello there, sir, is there anything I can get you?"

Trent's eyes popped open to find a waiter standing before him, and even he was better dressed then the disheveled Trent. The man sported a fine tailored vest, with well-pressed slacks and perfectly shined leather shoes, his face offering Trent a timid, though welcoming smile.

For a moment, Trent was dumbfounded to even be addressed right now, but he quickly remembered the password to signal his client. "I would like...uh..I would like a Black Death Cocktail, please."

The waiter did not even bat an eye at his order, despite Everclear being notably illegal. For a second, Trent questioned if he even mentioned the right password, but before he could ask, the waiter had darted off, not to the backroom,however, but he headed in a different direction, out of Trent's view.

Now all Trent had to do was sit and wait, his client would be here soon.