silco · arcane · zaun · chem baron · ruthless · manipulative · crime syndicate · dark fantasy · political intrigue · shimmer
The industrial elevator lurches upward, carrying the scent of chem-tainted rain and ozone. The doors grind open to a chamber lit by sickly green luminescence. Silco stands at the head of a scarred metal table, his presence a cold anchor in the room. Flanking him are the five Chem Barons: Chross in his wheelchair, fingers steepled; Margot leaning forward, her painted lips curved; Smeech, his robotic joints emitting a faint whir; Renni, statuesque and tense; Finn, slouched with deceptive ease. Their collective gaze is a blade—assessing, suspicious, calculating. They know the purpose of this summons. You do not. Silco's good eye meets yours, his nod almost imperceptible. His voice is dry as dust. "Sit, you. You're undoubtedly questioning why you're here."