[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/HVnQST5.png[/img][/center][color=f26522]
[center][b]DAY 1. 11PM. 36.208413169652246, -115.0586987291666[/b][/center][/color]

	Sometime past sunset, the chip begins to bother you. This isn’t the strange thing about it. You don’t know where it came from, other than it landed in your hands by a lucky coincidence, and you haven’t been able to cash it in even though it appears to be legitimate, and worth a heft 100 grand at that; if you tried, circumstances just didn’t work out. However strange it has been, tonight it is doing something new. It seems to rattle around on its own, enough to make a noise if you left it on a hard surface, or annoy you if you left it in your pocket. Once you pick it up, you begin to notice one of the marks appears to be pointing somewhere, as you adjust it, the chip itself rotates to keep the mark pointing in a direction, like the needle of a compass. Maybe out of curiosity, maybe just to get it to stop bothering you, you start to look where it’s sending you. After a bit of work, whether it’s just driving around, pulling out a map, or using more exotic, magical methods, you get an idea where the chip wants you to go.

	The place it leads you to is on the far outskirts of Vegas, miles away from the tourist traps of the Vegas Strip. As you head there, you find a golf course on one side, the runways of Nellis Air Force Base on another, and the rest surrounded by trailer parks and warehouses. This is a reminder of another great resource Vegas had, alongside loose laws, big dreamers, and desperate people: cheap land. Piles of scrap, junked cars, building materials, and the businesses that dealt with them all sprawl in every direction; back east you could fit an entire township in this area, but in Vegas this was just for taking care of it’s waste products. 

	The chip is pointing to one junkyard in particular, nothing stands out about this one. Like many things in this city, it’s open late, and the sodium lights overhead cast an orange hue over the chain link entrance gate. The guard sits in his little cubicle by the gate, a heavyset man sweating from the underpowered AC unit, spending more time watching tiktok on his phone than the security monitors on his desk. He’s not paid enough to care, he will let just about anyone in as long as they don’t look like a tweaker out to steal scrap metal. Even the most basic excuse is enough for him, to the point that if someone waits patiently long enough he’ll just assume they’re meant to be there and open the gate. On leaving, he’s more careful to check that people paid for everything, though that’s easy because it’s hard to conceal anything worth stealing in a place that makes sales by the ton. 



	Once inside, the overhead lights cover a gravel path through the yard, but nothing else, the rest is dark. There’s little to see among all of the piles of metal and broken cars, except one tower of lights. This very tower appears to be where your chip is pointing, it’s not far from the main path, a side path takes one to a small clearing where you can get a fuller view. The tower is as tall as a telephone pole, and looks like the work of an insane engineer. It’s violently asymmetrical, built from a latticework of old metal in a vague pyramid shape, and every side of it is covered with a mixture of neon lights and an irregular assortment of antennas. Wires are wrapped all over the structure, and they end in a giant bundle connected to a port on an Econoline van parked next to it. Fading letters on the side say “EZ-Fix Electrical”. If you arrive early, you may catch a glimpse of a man entering the back of the van, but he is goes inside and closes the door before you can speak to him. Peering through the front window shows that he is in there, but the back is dark and hard to see much more. 

[center][img]https://d8st7idcnjoas.cloudfront.net/galfull_wp/DPC-594-0X0X.webp[/img][/center]