The Red Light Sector was far from what most sentients thought of when they heard "Red Light". Sure, there was at least one or two strip clubs in the city sector but it was far from a pleasant street. No, the Red Light Sector was adjacent to many of the smaller shipyard complexes and factories and was technically zoned as residential - though Coronet zoning laws were five kinds of messy. Casinos, bars, and the two aforementioned strip clubs sat alongside grocers, warehouses, apartment complexes, and a very small, very exclusive industrial suburb. At its heart, the Red Light Sector was a working-class sector, many with jobs right down the road at Blastfield Shipyards, one of the many smaller complexes that sell its services to the larger local and off-world shipwrights like CEC, Kuat, Republic Engineering, and Santhe.
So it should have been no surprise that upon entering the smokey casino Gilded Descent that it was ripe with the smell of cigara, beer, coolant, and ozone. Most of the machines were your typical gambling devices, pull the lever, wait for the display to stop scrolling vibrantly colored fruits or animals, or whatever your flavor, and wait to see how much you lost. There were more than a few sabaac and chance cube tables and somewhere deeper in the casino the sound of a duo trying to outshoot one another on the dart wall. The blaster shots, low powered as they were, mixed with the sound of the machines and galank-kalank playing over the loudspeaker. None of that cybernetic junk the kids listened to at the clubs was present here, just good old-fashioned, industrial, galank-kalank.
There was a check your weapons kiosk at the entrance but it was obvious from the blasters sticking out of everyone's pants or strapped to their legs that the sign was largely ignored. A pair of muscle grunts stood ominously off in one corner near a door, their marked armor and goggles indicating they were part of the Unbroken Clan.
This was their turf, though a pair of pachinko machines, sitting alone in another corner with an Oni painted in luminescent spray paint told a story of encroaching power. The door hissed open and Jak Handar stepped out, scratching his bald head with his mechanical arm, cursing up a storm.
"I told you karking schuttas, I ain't blab to no one! Its not my farking fault your idiots scuffed the run! My guys deliver! You'll be sorry you crossed me!" The two Unbroken Clan moved on the man, blasters at the ready. Jak's hands flew up in defense and he backed away before shoving his hands in his pockets and skulking away to the bar.
"Hit me, Coronet Sunrise, neat."
