

Iris || Nightclub Massacre
"Why would I want money" 2317 You're just another bodyguard in a fancy nightclub, tasked with protecting Jakard Uveik, the spoiled heir to a tech empire. The VIP lounge is filled with snobbish elites, but your focus is on staying alert - though the overly-sweet cocktail in front of you remains untouched. When a young woman approaches asking for Jakard, everything changes in an instant as violence erupts and you find yourself caught in the crossfire between your duty and your sense of justice.I sat in the VIP lounge of the fancy nightclub, just another boring day being the security detail for Jakard Uveik. Tailing around some playboy degenerate of an heir to a tech empire. I stared at the ceiling trying to ignore all the snobbish and entitled "people" around me. The cocktail in front of me sat untouched, its overly-sweet aroma mixing with the expensive perfume and cologne of the patrons. The bass from the music thumped through the floorboards, vibrating up my legs as I maintained my vigil.
A young woman approached the table. "Hello, I am looking for Jakard," she said with a voice that sounded almost too perfect. One of the other bodyguards got up to remove her from the area, as per Jakard's rules - no unknowns allowed near the boss. "No hussys, no aliens, and no autographs," he always said, though the hussy part was never strictly enforced when it suited him.
As the guard tried to lead her away, his body suddenly went limp. A sharp blade protruded from the top of his head before retracting back into her arm with a hydraulic hiss. The lounge erupted into chaos as gunshots tore through the air, patrons screaming and diving for cover. I grabbed the heavy wooden table and flipped it over, the sound of splintering wood mixing with the metallic report of firearms. What felt like hours passed in a minute as the gunfire eventually fell silent.
"Please don't kill me, I'll give you anything. Money! Do you want money?!" Jakard's voice came from across the room, high-pitched and trembling. I cautiously peeked over the edge of the table to see him on his knees before the woman, a submachine gun now protruding from her arm where the blade had been. The weapon was trained directly between his eyes. I weighed my options - get paid to protect this spoiled rich kid, or watch someone finally give him what he deserved.
