This Ain't A Scene, It's An Arms Race [OPEN]

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NOTES You can put notes and w/e else here. It will scroll so no worries about length~

It had been a fruitful fucking day for Sunaho.

Her Dust Devils had hit the auction pretty hard, a lot of her more mentally capable men (rare though they were) had been sent out to try and make some deals here and there. Weapons were the main goal, but a variety of other supplies had been procured to. The funds from their recent jewelry store hit had covered the expenses, and Sunaho could hardly wait to see their investments bear fruit.

Her little gang was making some progress, and it put a smile on her face to see that.

With the work they’d done at the auction already, Sunaho figured the boys could use some time to cool off. Normally that would just mean some cold beers back at their home base, but a different opportunity had arisen during their stay at the Shinagawa Terminal.

A couple thugs had been spreading the word that, apparently, one of the wealthier clients of the auction had decided to go all out on making the most of the location. The rich fuck, whoever they were, had decided to rent out an entire damn warehouse that was under the control of the Plutocracy, for one singular purpose: To celebrate the complete lawlessness of the terminal in a massive party within the space.

The exact words they’d used were ‘a warehouse rave to bring this whole fucking port down.’

Sounded like a good time to Sunaho and her gang, barring Matsuda, their oldest member, who’d opted to keep working the auction. All work and no play, he was. Then again, Sunaho wasn't much better, she could just see some value in kicking her shoes off and going numb for one night.

Numb was the right word, because one could not only hear the pounding music from a distance away, one could practically feel the force of it.

Under the cover of night, Sunaho and her unmasked Dust Devils approached the warehouse hosting the rave. A few armed guards were stationed outside the entrance, but they weren’t exactly picky about who turned up. All they were really doing was keeping an eye out for authorities or anyone looking to cause trouble.

So long as you looked just as shady as the rest of them, the guards didn’t care less about who entered. Young, old, whatever… So they didn’t give two shits when Sunaho and her band of thugs rocked up, walking in through a single door entrance into the crowded interior.

Sheer chaos abounded, as amidst the darkness, only a handful of lights illuminated the area with bright and colorful flashing, as the vibrations of heavy electronic music perforated the air. People were jumping and dancing in massive crowds all over the place, all facing the lone DJ at the front of the warehouse, upon a hastily construed raised platform.

The warehouse had been outfitted with lights and speakers in excess. Some areas towards one side had been adorned with cheap couches and sofas and other simple furniture, though most areas were already taken, leaving most people standing and jumping.

Naturally, there were all kinds of drinks and illicit substances around. Coolers full of various alcoholic drinks were strewn about, some people selling booze to whoever paid, dealing with swarms tossing money their way as they dealt out shots. Some other individuals skulked through the crowds with other substances, the kinds that were probably gonna get someone dead by the end of the night. They’d offer them right on the spot, pills popped all over the place as the music only grew louder.

As her Dust Devils dispersed through the crowd, Sunaho break off from them, into the crowd of people, pumping her hand in the air with the music. The entire atmosphere was numbing, even before she’d grabbed a drink. Letting the pure white noise of the rave wash over her senses, Sunaho moved towards the bar, while the music pounded all around.

Under the night, in the Shinagawa Terminal, was a warehouse rave to remember. Sunaho just hoped all her men were going to make it through the night.