Diamond Bay holds the underbelly of South; the district slammed against the slums of Landing in a seemingly well run commercial sector.

Minus the garbage and graffiti.

The gray skies above turn whiter as the afternoon comes, chronic showers beginning to subside to a simple cold humidity; the evaporation of liquids carrying with them the stench of rotting food and feces.

In alleyways the scantily clad dresses of prostitutes catch the instincts of neurons, ignored by the will of the police. A crowd unfound as the workday manages to keep itself operating, a soon to be arriving customer base still in factories and dockyards.

Jason Ford keeps his eyes straight to the road, an alertness practiced with parentage and academic training.

The question interrupts all thought processes, a distraction against the glances placed before them by the citizenry of the off-hand location. Sergeant Jarka attempting to break the tension from her team with a half-joke, half-probing request. “So Officer Ford, you ever been to a strip club before?”

Completely caught off guard, the young soul is forced into honesty. “N-no ma’am.”

“Goody two shoes here.” Underfoot chuckles at the answer. “Better to not get involved with that stuff you hear me kid? And that’s beyond the fact that you’re a cop now.”

“Yes s-sir.”

Illusions of scantily clad women, shapes generalized enough to appeal to any species, dance across the fare of Augustine Road alongside gambling dens. Casinos broadcasting advertisements of cards and dice, private security guards at entrances awaiting any sort of confrontation with non-compliant customers.

“Not a good place for a minor to hang around…” Sergeant Jarka comments. “Guess our suspect was roped into this.”

“M-ma’am?” Ford asks quietly for specification.

“That’s how some of these cartels and gangs operate.” The woman walks as she rubs her long, partially elvish ears; the biting cold from the Azure Sea coming in a thick breeze. “Pay some youth to first deliver packages, and then get’em to help manufacture after they’re too far in. It’s a pretty common tactic, and gets good kids into bad businesses.”

An interruption from the street, a human woman blowing a kiss towards the generalized group of police officers along with sultry words. “Heyyyyy, any of you want to relax tonight?”

An uncharacteristic reaction from the tall, stoic form of Officer Ican, the uniformed arm and hostile middle finger presented to the unconfirmed prostitute as she continues to walk down the street.

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Sergeant Jarka softens her gaze as she ignores the alleyway, tapping her subordinate gently. “We got bigger fish to fry tonight than arresting someone for this…”

“I know.” Officer Ican nods carefully.

From the street they spot it; the dying, decaying facade of a commercial strip club sprouts against the dirt and grime of Diamond Bay. Pink illusory magic shining into the streets, half of the wording of the logo already decayed from the disregarded maintenance of arcane projecting runes.

Club Dazzle

“No offense ma’am, but we’re totally walking into a drug den.” Underfoot logically notes. “Seriously, look at this awful place. No way this place is profitable without a ‘side-business.’”

“We got a flimsy reasonable suspicion with that card.” Jarka informs her team. “If it is involved in the trade we should take an investigative measure.”

The security guard at front, armed with a dagger and leather vest, makes eye contact with the four stopped police officers.

“Ready?” The party lead asks.

Careful nods, excited minds from Underfoot, the dead expression of Ican, and the nervous glance from Ford.

Sergeant Jarka affixes herself to the rookie. “Well, you can say the first time you’ve been in a strip club was for work right?”

Jason Ford draws a half-archaic, half-nervous smile at the joke, an awkward expression drawn over perfectly aligned, tusked teeth.

That was pretty funny, lighten up.

A sudden wave of seriousness washing over her, Sergeant Jarka’s words echoing in the street. “Be prepared for anything.”

The security guard speaks up from behind the huddled group, words generalized to the team. Harsh voice, the nearly six and a half foot tall muscle bound orc speaking to the individuals at the front of the locale. “Hey! Move along!”

“Wow…” Underfoot comments slyly, hands within pockets extended in the first steps of hidden arcane spellcraft. “This is gonna be interesting.”

Sergeant Jarka steps forth, a badge taken from her belt and displayed to the sole security guard. Voice deceptively forceful, a bluff placed against a being a good head taller than her. “I’m Sergeant Luria Jarka, Arcane Crimes Unit of the South Police Department. We have reasonable suspicion of illegal activity occurring on this property. May we see the owner or current manager?”

Eyes narrowed to the badge and back to the woman, insight checked against the will of employment. “Wait here.”

“We’re coming with you.” Sergeant Jarka stops him in his tracks. “This is not a request.”

Officer Ican’s form leans down to Jason Ford’s ear, a quiet whisper to the young man from an observation of a world around them. “We are being watched.”

Jason Ford follows the glance, a fighter’s instinct sending a chill up his spinal column in realization.

Faces of men and women fading away into the streets, suddenly becoming clearer with a focused perception. Whispered instructions passed between operators, information spreading across the streets for consequences unknown.

“W-w-w-what are we doing?” Ford stops as he readies himself for conflict.

The woman next to him remains quiet, simple words easing him into actual work. “Be calm.”

“B-but th…”

The security guard interrupts them as he speaks to Sergeant Jarka. “Fine. I’ll take you there.”