He listens, looking you over... finally with a sigh and a shrug, he lets you enter unhindered.  Walking down the hallway into the back/front room you'll pass a woman - a gaunt elf - wandering down the hallway, her eyes glazed and a simrig attached to a trode-net pasted to her forehead, a side effect of the hot-mod simrigs (normal ones have safeties in place to keep you immobile and unconscious, though modded ones sometimes have faulty - or removed - safeties).  Many a man hit in traffic in the last several years was a hot-modded simrig user  mobile but blissfully unaware of his surroundings.  In the back room there's a massive pile of data chips and tech strewn about, six or seven junkies strewn about feeding their addictions - including the two orks now - and a dwarf in front of the tech working on a sim-rig, the woman clearly more 'upscale' a person than the kind that was the usual around here.<br/><br/>"Hm?" she grunts, her voice not nearly as deep as her form would suggest "New girl?  Eh, fine... the module is 250, then chips are 20, 50, and 100, with an additional 100 for coherent sexual fantasies.  What's your tweak gonna be?"<br/><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">OOC</div><div class="spoiler_body">Roll your Intuition: if you get 2 Hits, you'll note that she isn't using the traditional street lingos for everything</div></div>