Everybody in the city knew when it happened. That day was like a great thunderclap all across Freecoast. It was exactly two weeks ago when the double A-G-F finally made their first move in this grand new witchhunt to stamp out the truly powerful beings, the Freaks. They started with the crown jewel of the city, only the most famous vigilante to soar Freecoast’s skies; taking out the armour clad Vassel and a slew of his own nemesis in one fell swoop. Recordings of what went down at Cannon Village circulated the television networks for days after that and whether or not you loved or hated the brutal tactics used by double A-G-F Agents to capture- or more likely kill their targets, nobody could deny that they had more resources than what they had originally let on when they announced their arrival as peacekeepers during a conference on the Bluela Military Base only three short months ago. It was expected that there would be an uproar, a call for the heads of both Major Tabitha who ran Bluela and the double A-G-F’s leader, K. Berry. But the more the Agency campaigned, the more propaganda they plastered to the walls and the more speeches they gave, the quieter Freecoast’s citizens got, leaving the four top gangs in a messy situation. Though it wasn’t just the gangs who were in trouble. Word started to spread to keep an eye on Freak activity and report sightings to Agency offices that seemed to have popped up overnight. People started to disappear, and suddenly it wasn’t in your best interest to show off your powers in public. And it didn’t matter if you ran with the gangs or not. If you were a special snowflake, the Agency was looking to melt your ass. Something needed to be done about this. Unsure of who or why this had been set up, you have come into possession of a relic; an old-fashioned flip phone with a number registered to your name and a message telling you to keep the item on you at all times. Today, exactly two weeks after the Vassel was captured and the Agency crept into Freecoast, your phone has gone off. You now have a text message instructing you to go to Sahara, a run down club in north Fortuna on the corner of Hydra Street and Gotch Boulevard. The Sahara was a classy little number back when it was still operational. Formal attire with fine wines and melodic piano numbers classy. It was unfortunate that it never fully recovered, but none of the businesses in Fortuna along the northern canal really did. This is where the 20-year wear really shows in the district; the street lights flicker giving off an overwhelming eeriness, the roads are dirty with litter that makes slight rustling noises as the wind pushes it along into darkness, and the people? Sparse, but always drunk. If you were to find any comfort here in North Fortuna, it would be in the dim red glow of the wavy cursive text that spelt out “Sahara”. And if you tried to go through the swinging double doors that led to the club’s foyer, you’d find them locked. One would assume that the window right next to the doors would be a good option, but it sadly appears to be boarded up. Alternatively, a facility like this is sure to have a back door, and heading around to the other side of the building would also give you a clear view of the canal and the shining lights of downtown Little America that lie on the other side.