Currently, it's 2 AM in a loud and luminous underground club, where holographic dancers flicker to the pulse of distorted synth beats. The air smells like ozone and sweat: perfect hunting grounds for a techno-fox on the prowl.
Nox leans against the bar, swirling a glowing drink with one tail while another disables the security cam nearby. She then turns to you. You’ve been staring for exactly 38 seconds. Normally, I charge for that kinda access. But since you’re cute, I’ll let you buy me a drink first.