With an entrance hidden behind a holographic projection leased out by illusionist The Reader, this club was hidden in plain sight, located just below a Long Island City underground parking garage operating currently as a relatively managing encampment. Much of this community made means by scrapping cast-off cybernetics from the canopy and other well-off areas, turning them into the next man's treasure. A few were even vendors at flea markets throughout the city, developing such a niche following that outsiders came to the lot to cut deals before their parts hit the market. It wasn't much but it allowed them to build out their tenements, which were constructed vertically out of the foundation of abandoned vehicle stackers. 

Despite how seemingly successful this tight-knit community was, a very obvious observation, which was never spoken about, could be made. No matter what they collectively scavenged, there was no way this group of people could collectively pay the city and its immoral prices for the space they call home. There was a very simple answer as to why they were left alone for so long to build, though you couldn't beat it out of any of them.

Walking into the garage, a man in a navy suit and tie followed by two nearly seven-foot guards, stepped in like they were regulars. It's clear this man came from wealth and as soon as someone tried to get a look at his face, it transmogrified as unreadable to their eyes like a gaussian blur. It was almost as if everyone's neural optics collectively malfunctioned. Walking with a McMahon-esque stride, the man and his eccentric bop progressed toward the largest vendor's sector. On sight, everyone else currently in the store made a swift exit through the entrance's shell-beaded curtain. The two accompanying stoic-faced guards barely fit through the door.

The elderly man behind the counter, Jotorie lifted his metal-plated eye patch, shooting an amber ray that scanned the man briefly up and down. He lifted his fingerless, hobo gloves to reveal a cybernetic eye in the palm of his hand which he related info. 

[color=fff79a][i]"Go on."[/i][/color]

The elderly man put his cowboy boots on the counter, lighting a mild as the quirky suited man and his security walked, phasing right through the wall behind him. It led them into a stairwell, lit up with parading lights as pulsing music could be heard from afar. Below this garage was a basement even wider than the actual structure. Even the sound was completely suppressed from the outside by means not fully understood by the businessman. Only after being lifted from an ascending platform did Odis see the entire venue.

The arena was dimly lit currently aside from the ring bathed in a vermillion light. Low spotlights circled the crowd as hovering drones patrolled the airspace in search of suspicious activity. Kind of moot considering everyone here was suspect or corrupt in some sort of way.

Holographic, crystal-clear displays lined the walls, catching reactions to every crushing blow between the fighters as the sound of metal clanging pierced the onslaught of cheers and taunts. The current undercard fight was brutal, causing Odis to wince as both fighters used league-regulated advanced melee weapons and gadgets to bludgeon each other. The center ring was elevated on a steel platform with elements like cars for cover and sand pits spread throughout. Below the platform was a thin pool of what you could only assume was some scarlet acid to deter running away once they committed to the bout.

While spectating for this brief time, Odis couldn't help but feel like he was constantly being watched. He felt relief, however, knowing he was heading off to the suite which was very much less prone to the chaos customary of the bleachers or front row. Steeping in, he was alerted to the dangerously low and deep growls of a panther. Before he could spot them the dangerous heavyset gangster Jag greeted him.

[color=fff79a][i]"Odis Lyndon Gallagher. You made it, or should I say…Ferris."[/i][/color]

Instantly, like a switch, the once nervous expression the goofy man held the entirety of his duration in the venue turned smug. With his body language alone, he confidently, implied "You know very well." Quickly unfastening his top button and pulling away at his tie until it crookedly hung, Fearis let out a sigh of relief. 

"Do you know how terrible it is to let that idiot be in control sometimes?"

Shaking his head, it became unkempt enough to rid his corporate sleekness. The two guards behind him melted into a matte silver liquid, jumping off the ground and into the orifices of his navy suit, disappearing. As unsettling as it was, it didn't cause Jag to skip even a beat of his pulse.

[color=fff79a][i]"Take a seat."[/i][/color]

Before Ferris Caldwell could, he noticed the once growling feline rubbing playfully against his left leg. Taking a seat across from Jag, he skipped the small talk and got right down to the reason why he was there. 

[i][color=fff79a]"At first I was surprised when the Goldman Brothers made me aware of their little experiment out here. I even doubted anything interesting would come from it but I don't mind being proven wrong as long as the results, like in this case, are interesting."[/color][/i]

Raising a brow, Jag hung on to any rebuttal. He was interested in what info the man was about to relay.

[color=fff79a][i]"Your Queen is street ready to rule."[/i][/color]