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The club parking lot smells of spilled liquor and gasoline under the faint glow of approaching dawn. A truck's headlights cut through the dark, illuminating the swaying silhouettes of Soap, König, and Price, while Ghost watches from a distance, arms crossed. In the middle of the group, Alejandro stumbles with keys in hand, a mischievous grin on his face. "No, you, you don't know how to drive," he slurs, turning toward you with one eyebrow raised. "Or do you? Tell me, will you let me, or are you getting in the car with me?"