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game_systems:traveller:starlightdrifter:adventure_journal

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game_systems:traveller:starlightdrifter:adventure_journal [2025/12/20 14:01] – [Red Light District] Bryan Stephensgame_systems:traveller:starlightdrifter:adventure_journal [2025/12/20 14:19] (current) – [Red Light District] Bryan Stephens
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 Not fades — dies. Not fades — dies.
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 +{{ :game_systems:traveller:places:pavallion_6.png?350|}}
  
 Every comm implant, screen, neural link, and datapad Viktor carries drops into dead silence. For a man who has spent years as a constantly connected agent, the sudden absence hits like a missed step in zero-g. His reflexive awareness of feeds, channels, and threat updates finds nothing to hook into. There is no hum of background traffic, no comforting flow of data at the edge of his vision. His muscles tense without permission, waiting for an alert that never comes. The phantom itch of incoming messages flickers and fades. Every comm implant, screen, neural link, and datapad Viktor carries drops into dead silence. For a man who has spent years as a constantly connected agent, the sudden absence hits like a missed step in zero-g. His reflexive awareness of feeds, channels, and threat updates finds nothing to hook into. There is no hum of background traffic, no comforting flow of data at the edge of his vision. His muscles tense without permission, waiting for an alert that never comes. The phantom itch of incoming messages flickers and fades.
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 The paper has directions to a closed down former business, “The Muzzled Puppy” (the less said about what it did the better), including a code to open the door and the general location of a data stick. Rally remembers this location from the past week and offers to take Viktor to the red light district. Hanson and Galen come along, and Rally brings Reigns //”She keeps me out of trouble”// The paper has directions to a closed down former business, “The Muzzled Puppy” (the less said about what it did the better), including a code to open the door and the general location of a data stick. Rally remembers this location from the past week and offers to take Viktor to the red light district. Hanson and Galen come along, and Rally brings Reigns //”She keeps me out of trouble”//
  
 +{{:game_systems:traveller:lore:the_four_left.png?350 |}}
  
 The red-light District sprawls along the arcology’s underside and outward into the ground-level sprawl—tight streets under old support ribs, neon reflected in puddles that never quite dry, steam venting from grates that smell faintly of disinfectant and hot metal. The air is warmer here, louder, crowded with basslines and bargaining voices and the soft hum of signage that never sleeps. The red-light District sprawls along the arcology’s underside and outward into the ground-level sprawl—tight streets under old support ribs, neon reflected in puddles that never quite dry, steam venting from grates that smell faintly of disinfectant and hot metal. The air is warmer here, louder, crowded with basslines and bargaining voices and the soft hum of signage that never sleeps.
  
-Everything is lit in invitation colors: crimson strips, violet halos, gold ''OPEN'' glyphs in half a dozen alphabets. Doors are everywhere—some obvious, some hidden behind false storefronts, some only a seam of light when you know where to press. Officially, there are patrol routes. There are cameras. There are ordinances. In practice, the district is relatively unmonitored on purpose.+Everything is lit in invitation colors: crimson strips, violet halos, gold "OPEN" glyphs in half a dozen alphabets. Doors are everywhere—some obvious, some hidden behind false storefronts, some only a seam of light when you know where to press. Officially, there are patrol routes. There are cameras. There are ordinances. In practice, the district is relatively unmonitored on purpose.
  
 The rich and powerful want it that way. The rich and powerful want it that way.
  
-They come here because it’s one of the few places in the arcology where money can buy privacy—and privacy needs darkness to breathe. So the oversight is intentionally soft: cameras that ''glitch,'' blind corners that never get fixed, and enforcement that arrives late unless a headline is at risk. The city’s public stance is disapproval. Its private stance is accommodation.+They come here because it’s one of the few places in the arcology where money can buy privacy—and privacy needs darkness to breathe. So the oversight is intentionally soft: cameras that "glitch" blind corners that never get fixed, and enforcement that arrives late unless a headline is at risk. The city’s public stance is disapproval. Its private stance is accommodation.
  
 No one relies on civic protection here—not if they can help it. No one relies on civic protection here—not if they can help it.
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 Muggings aren’t rare. “Accidents” happen. A wrong turn can lead you into a corridor where the lights don’t reach and the music fades just enough for you to hear footsteps that aren’t keeping time. Some predators work alone. Others work in polite little teams—one to distract, one to lift your valuables, one to make sure you don’t chase. And yet the district stays busy, because it offers what the arcology’s upper levels can’t: raw sensation, anonymity, and the dangerous comfort of being seen for exactly what you want tonight. Muggings aren’t rare. “Accidents” happen. A wrong turn can lead you into a corridor where the lights don’t reach and the music fades just enough for you to hear footsteps that aren’t keeping time. Some predators work alone. Others work in polite little teams—one to distract, one to lift your valuables, one to make sure you don’t chase. And yet the district stays busy, because it offers what the arcology’s upper levels can’t: raw sensation, anonymity, and the dangerous comfort of being seen for exactly what you want tonight.
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 It’s glamorous in patches—velvet ropes, mirrored foyers, curated perfumes—and brutal in the seams between those patches. The district has a rhythm: lure, promise, transaction, escape. It’s a place where desire is a currency and safety is a surcharge. Down here, morality is a costume you wear if it helps you get what you want. It’s glamorous in patches—velvet ropes, mirrored foyers, curated perfumes—and brutal in the seams between those patches. The district has a rhythm: lure, promise, transaction, escape. It’s a place where desire is a currency and safety is a surcharge. Down here, morality is a costume you wear if it helps you get what you want.
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 After making sure she has this, Viktor heads to the bathroom, and slips outside. Viktor steps into the streets with a sense of satisfaction. This is like the old days. A seedy street. The traces of drug smoke, urine in the air. He looks like he belongs. Normally a loan man on these streets is a potential victim. Not Viktor. His carful eyes note the potential predators who move on. They are only alive because they are good a picking prey. The man in the long coat with golden eyes is clearly a predator.  After making sure she has this, Viktor heads to the bathroom, and slips outside. Viktor steps into the streets with a sense of satisfaction. This is like the old days. A seedy street. The traces of drug smoke, urine in the air. He looks like he belongs. Normally a loan man on these streets is a potential victim. Not Viktor. His carful eyes note the potential predators who move on. They are only alive because they are good a picking prey. The man in the long coat with golden eyes is clearly a predator. 
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 +{{:game_systems:traveller:places:viktor_redlight.png?300 |}}
  
 Viktor comes to Muzzled Puppy. Above the entrance hangs the sign. Not lit. A thick, weather-pocked plaque with faded paint and a cracked laminate face, the edges curled where years of heat and moisture worked it loose. The art is blunt and unmistakable: a Vargr head in a bondage dog mask, muzzle straps drawn tight, ring fixtures and buckles exaggerated in a stylized way meant to read from across the street. Once, the eyes would’ve glowed—embedded LEDs, probably—giving the mascot a playful, predatory sparkle. Now the eyes are dead. Just dull plastic and old scratches. Viktor comes to Muzzled Puppy. Above the entrance hangs the sign. Not lit. A thick, weather-pocked plaque with faded paint and a cracked laminate face, the edges curled where years of heat and moisture worked it loose. The art is blunt and unmistakable: a Vargr head in a bondage dog mask, muzzle straps drawn tight, ring fixtures and buckles exaggerated in a stylized way meant to read from across the street. Once, the eyes would’ve glowed—embedded LEDs, probably—giving the mascot a playful, predatory sparkle. Now the eyes are dead. Just dull plastic and old scratches.
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 ==== Infiltrations ==== ==== Infiltrations ====
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 +{{ :game_systems:traveller:places:lsp_tower.png?300|}}
  
 //We used a points for heist system here, but I have knitted the narrative chronologically. -Bryan// //We used a points for heist system here, but I have knitted the narrative chronologically. -Bryan//
game_systems/traveller/starlightdrifter/adventure_journal.1766257263.txt.gz · Last modified: by Bryan Stephens

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