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If you had any sort of business in New Hong Kong, you'd eventually find yourself in the Chinese Quarter- no matter how hard you tried to stay away from it, it would bring you in. It didn't matter who you were, the Chinese Quarter didn't like you. Take one part industrial wasteland, three parts dog eat dog slum, slather it up with neon and add a dash of black market and you had a recipe for mean-as-hell.

It was strange to call this place in particular 'Chinese', as technically, the entirety of Hong Kong was Chinese, but the Chinese Quarter was where modern technology met traditional Chinese architecture and business- similar to Chinatowns of the western world. Seedy, yet technological, the Chinese Quarter was a weird mix of high tech and trashy, a half slum half technology park, filled with metric tons of underground, illegal, and black market technology dealers and cyber surgeons. C-Sec, Hong Kong's corporate police force tended to steer clear of the Chinese Quarter, due to a combination of deals with the local Triads, and fear of the general violence and seediness of the pseudo-slum. As a result, black markets thrived here- and everyone knew it. 

The streets were packed with people and rubble, making it difficult for a vehicle to travel through, and no Taxi would take her any closer than the outskirts. She made her way through the crowd packed streets and found her way to the giant arch that marked the Chinese Quarter. Entering through large archway, Hisano could only be 80% certain that she wouldn't be knocked unconscious, and robbed of major organs- that was 70% more certain than she could be about almost every other smaller entrance around the Chinese Quarter.

Stepping into the streets of the Chinese Quarter, Hisano's senses were immediately assaulted by bright neon colors, the sounds of street vendors and crowds, the smell of sweat, grime, and chinese food, and the overwhelming atmosphere of the Chinese Quarter itself. Sure, Hisano was no goodie-goodie straight-shooter nose-in-the-air middle-class wage slave, but she wasn't a slummer either, and the Chinese Quarter was a weird kinda slum. 

Fixer's Hope was a moderately difficult bar to find- it wasn't on any of the main roads, and anyone Hisano talked to seemed just as likely to tell her to 'slag off' as they were to give her instructions- and half the times the instructions didn't even take her to the right place. She found a Fixer-Up Auto shop, Last Hope- a strip club, and a gaudily dressed man calling himself Mr. Fixer, 'willing to kill anyone for the right price' before she found Fixer's Hope, a smallish building off Renno Street, nearby the seediest alley she'd ever seen. Outside the building a few people stood around or sat on the curb, a few smoking cigarettes, their arms bare- either chromed out or covered in tattoos, one drunk. One or two gave the girl a look, but no one approached her.

Knocking on the steel door and lighting up a cigarette, Hisano only needed to wait a moment before a slit at eye level of the steel door slid open. A glowing blue eye stared her down, looked down, then up. The eye shot a look at one of the chromed out guys behind her who merely nodded- probably making sure she wasn't a cop, or any other sort of trouble. Without a word, the slit slid shut, and a the door slowly swung open. The glowing blue eye was skinny looking guy, grimy and missing his left eye. He held the door open for her and gestured her inside. He made no attempt to ask her to throw out her cigarette, and the general haze coming from the interior of the building implied that there was probably more than person actively smoking inside the establishment already. 
  
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As far as bars went- Fixer's Hope wasn't nearly as shitty as Hisano expected- it was by no means great, but it was't a run down piece of shit. The bar itself had a very technophile aesthetic to it, and was neither particularly crowded nor extremely empty- the remote location and the man at the door seemed to limit general accessibility. Fixer's Hope appeared to have two floors, and a spiral staircase sitting next to the bar lead to that upper floor- an impossibly big man in an impeccable suit stood in front of that staircase though, and he seemed to be turning away most people that approached him. The bar on this floor was relatively small, with only enough space for some 10 stools, about 3 of which were taken. 

The bar was easily the brightest thing in the room, neon lights projecting long shadows across the floor- cleverly placed so none would be in your eyes when you sat down, dozens upon dozens of bottles of liquor and synth-alcohol lit up in their shelves by LED backlights. A military grade energy shotgun sat on one of the shelves- both a decoration, and a not-so subtle warning to anyone that would cause the bar trouble. Behind the bar was a taller, gaunt man, his hair salt and pepper gray with a full brown beard and a black cyberarm. He paid little attention to the patrons of the bar, and seemed to be occupying his time by running a rag through a glass mug.

Small round tables and taller standing tables populated this floor of the bar. A bit less than half of them were occupied, many by just small groups or one or two people. Only one particularly large and rowdy group were present on this floor- a group of tattooed triads sat in the corner loudly laughing to themselves and speaking in rapid cantonese. Even then, their volume was only loud by relative terms, and they maintained a rather respectful volume and distance from the other customers nearest them.