"It's down here. I'm sure of it," Nathan says, guiding the two of you down yet another grimey back-street. Nathan had been pointed in the direction of the TF parlor by a friend earlier in the week, and had been desperate to return ever since.
"Maybe they shut down," you suggest. "Isn't it illegal now?" Legislation regarding Transforation Technology moves so fast these days that it is near impossible to keep up. "Actually, I think it might be illegal. Should we even be doing this?"
"That's exactly why we should be doing this. In a few months you won't even be able to find these places anywhere, and I'm not spending the rest of my life as anything less than superhuman. YES!"
The cause of his exuberant cry is an unremarkable black door with peeling paintwork, tucked away in the shadows. They aren't the kind of establishment to advertisement their existence. Nathan heads inside without hesitation.
The TF parlor is dark and smells strongly of weed. As your eyes adjust to the darkness, you find that the shop is a single; small room, one shelf filled with innumerable little jars; glass cabinets containing devices that look fresh of the scrap heap; and a man sitting behind a counter. He's middle-aged, with long, unkempt hair, tattoos and piercings covering every inch of skin, and an immaculate white lab coat. He flicks idly through a magazine.
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