After a few minutes, two cab rides, three blue-haired girls wandering outside to have a soy-bacco cigarette, and the quick ride to the arcade on motorcycle, you are all at the arcade.
Rayman's three blue-haired japanese girls are outside smoking, and they give you a glance as you walk by. Two of the three of them are on thier phones, calling someone, telling them in excited little girl voices that they've got an 'in' for the hot new club tonight.
As you enter the arcade, it's like an assault on all your senses. Brilliant lights flash, images pop up and dissolve, the sound is close to deafening as the full-body Dance Revolution Machine tries to be louder than the 'Street Fighter' full body VR combat.
There are also some datajack games at the back, but the unwashed kids playing those just lie there comatose and quiet.
A slightly older punk with a few piercings in his nose watches you approach the back of the arcade, and when he catches your eye, he flashes a small, dark green BTL chip, as if offering to sell.
The room in the back of the arcade has a small plas-wood door, with a wire-mesh through the small window, to keep anyone from breaking it. Once you get inside, the sound and lights from outside are dampened, but the replacement isn't much better.
It's a cheap place, with dim lighting, water-damaged ceiling tiles, and a few stray wires hanging down. The conference table has seen many generations of employees watching boring training videos and sitting in boring meetings, and it shows. There are numerous names carved into the cheap plas-wood table. Apparently Randy loves Sally, and that's crossed out, and then he loved Sandra, and then Meri. There's something written in a dark marker about Randy having STDs... but it's not totally legible.
There are several uncomfortable-looking chairs, and one padded chair that's had some of the stuffing ripped out of it.
The walls are poorly painted and re-painted, as graffitti (most of it by the employees) covered it, but is an ugly color and peeling already.
This place looks like the worst thing about every minimum-wage job you've ever heard of, rolled into one.
Rayman is standing on one of the chairs, pushing up a ceiling tile and checking the space above the room for... you have no idea what.
