[center][h3]Fynn LaPlace[/h3][/center]

[i]Hey Eleanor,

Mrs. Primrose and I are on our way to 'Madame Lafitte's' just in case you want to know. Would appreciate if you'd call back because we're worried.

P.S.: You could finally grant me the budget to develop my gun blast recognition software. Like voice recognition, you remember ? Just triggering on shots fired and certain people moaning in agony instead to send automated notifications...[/i]

This was so completely unnecessary! People actually having to call others manually in order to inform them of trouble just felt like such an antiquated thing at times. Much less antiquated however was the small drone Fynn started to assemble on his lap while they were driving to the club.

"Nothing like good reconnaissance..." he mumbled as he inserted the battery pack and gave the camera lens a decent cleanup. He could have thrown the thing out the window and used the remote control to guide it all around the traffic jams and red lights to the club directly, but experience dictated that other drivers on the adjacent lane could respond in a rather confused and irritated manner upon flying objects appearing in front fo their wind shield. Also he had somewhat promised Primrose to do some online research as well and couldn't do both at the same time.

With his rather large laptop on his hands, Fynn browsed for the club's own homepage at first. "Seems pretty standard to me, though I can already tell I won't like the music played there. However there's a member login. Maybe they're hiding something behind that ? Could try to find a way in." There also was the darknet, a rather abstract but also vast space Fynn was not unfamiliar with, even though more on the investigative side than anything else. Aside from a bunch of drug dealers stupid enough to openly announce they'd sell their stuff at some dark hours near the club's array of garbage dumps however there was nothing conspicuous to find it seemed.