Music pumps out of a warehouse in the slums, a massive wall of noise that threatens to overwhelm the senses. The bouncer is a man on a viewscreen [rat-like / coughing / speedy] and a Crawler Drone [patched-up / burning oil / loud]. He’ll let anyone in as long as they don’t look like a narc. Alternatively, he can be convinced with a DR 12 Presence Test.

Inside, the clubgoers stare at the stage in a daze… and the PCs soon find out why. A small, wheeled robot [beeping / oblivious] stops in front of them bearing a platter with doses of Vurt laid out upon it. Any one PC who imbibes shares in the collective vision [utopian / green / socialist / dreamy].

Unfortunately, they are still in the throes of the trip when 1d6 ACGS SpecOps make their way into the club, looking for a stolen weapons cache. The PCs see them within the vision, but may not know they are actually real until the drug wears off, or a PC is on their deathbed.

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