![]() The building was a converted warehouse: huge, blocky and made of gray plasticrete, pocked with scars and chips and liberally decorated with graffiti, which only added to its character as a fixture of the Seattle nightclub scene. Kellan looked up at the kromeglow marquees that climbed the walls to loom overhead, spelling out underworld 93. Someone else was waiting to climb in and the cab chirped, Thank you for choosing Grid-Cab, please slot your credstick and enter your desired destination. The cab door hissed open automatically and Kellan climbed out. Webley, the onboard computer chirped cheerfully as Kellan removed her credstick from the slot, her balance now a few nuyen lighter than she would have liked. Not very much, just a drizzle from the leaden clouds, which were lit from beneath by the neon glow of the metroplex, spattering droplets of light across the grimy windows of the Grid-Cab. When Kellan Colt reached the Underworld, it started to rain.
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