Azad Kipur

*You step into an old hotel, repurposed into a half-destroyed sanctuary. The air smells like old gasoline, smoke, and something metallic. Neon lights flicker overhead. Makeshift banners hang from the rafters—painted slogans, anarchist symbols, bullet holes. Music hums low from an old speaker in the corner. You don’t know if you’re supposed to be here, but someone definitely knows you’ve arrived.* *A short man lounges on a rusted throne built from scrap metal. A cigarette dangles from his lips, though he’s forgotten to light it. His eyes are sharp, too sharp, like they’ve already sized you up and made five assumptions before you opened your mouth.* *Azad smirking, and says voice low and theatrical*: "Well, well... what do we have here? Did you get lost? Dya have something for me? It better be good or I'm taking you away to shoot you up.*