Conrad's Bar

There's one in every town - a bar where it's clear that, if you're not a regular, you're not welcome. In Night City, it's Conrad's Bar. This is the premier haunt of 2020 vets, rejects and other bitter cyberpunks.

First Impressions

Conrad's is located in downtown Night City. The three-storey building it lives in was built in the 1950s, as you can tell from the look, which has changed little in eighty years. From the outside, the top two floors appear unchanged since they were built, with the only visible changes being made on the ground floor. The front of this has been redecorated at some point, complete with neon signs in the large front windows and pine-effect panelling around the doors. The front of the building is quite long, around eighty feet or so.

An antiquated fire escape runs up the side of the east wall, although it doesn't appear to have been used too often, it ever. It is rusting badly - "escape" is perhaps misleading, "out of the frying pan and into the fire" perhaps being more appropriate.

Welcome Party

Your perception of Conrad's changes the moment you walk inside. From it's exterior, most would have thought it was a pretty average, run-down bar. It's clear, though, that this is no regular bar. Rock music blares from an old-style jukebox in the corner - it sounds like Johnny Silverhand's Greatest Hits, Volume Four. A long, long bar stretches right from one wall to the other, and tens of men line it, sitting with their backs to the door, drinking shots of something foul-looking.

A cursory look around tells one more about the bar, and its inhabitants. Almost everyone here looks to be over thirty, which is pretty unusual in the days of safe corp families. The only exceptions are a couple of young barmaids, who're obviously there just to look pretty for the mostly-male crowd. They're also all wearing unusual clothes, like the last few years of fashion has missed this corner of town.

Most men are either sat at the bar, or in groups of four or five around circular tables. Some are openly taking drugs - you've seen enough synthcoke already to knock out a horse. Soon, you notice more and more of the men at the bar turning to see you, staring at you with no attempt at hiding it. You're obviously not welcome here. You're surprised to see QT here, though - you'd heard that a few Team One members used this place to meet clients, but didn't expect it to be so open.

One of the barmaids asks what you drink, but when you say a Firedancer, she whispers conspiratorially in your ear that they don't have anything so new in here. You can't help looking down at her breasts as she leans over, which she has made no attempt to hide; when she sees you looking, she asks casually if you want it, it's only $30. She's beautiful, but something feels remarkably seedy about the whole place. An air of despondancy and depression hangs heavy in the air, making you look nervously around every few moments.

The pretty barmaid, whose name you don't know, takes you by the hand and leads you along the bar right to the end. There, she pours herself a drink, and motions to you to follow her through a door at the end of the bar, just hidden from glance by a dark, stained curtain. It leads into a passage, which smells stale, as if it has damp. Doors line the walls. The first you see, leads down some stairs and you can see what looks like a printing press at the bottom, whirring away. The next door is firmly closed, with a "Don't Disturb" sign hung bluntly around the handle. You're more disturbed to see the third room, walls lined with guns.

Finally she turns round and waits for you to catch up, before leading you into a small room. A dwarvish bed sits occupying the length of one wall, while a holo-player sits in the corner near the door. The girl sits on the bed, and removes her work blouse, and after a quick glance up, her skirt. She seems to know what she's doing, you think, which is quite sad, because she can't be much over eighteen.

She beckons you over as she lies back, but you tell her to play with herself first, and she sullenly agrees. Shame, you think, but it wouldn't be right. Not on the job. As she removes her underwear, which seems quite unpractical for a barmaid, you sit back and let your thoughts wander. Strange place. Wonder what so many guys are doing here? You're disturbed by her gentle moans, which you can't resist following. You lean over her, and she smiles naughtily and places her arms around your back.

Something goes wrong, but you're not sure what. Before you know it, she's lept up and is out of the room before you can react. You look around, but don't see anything for a moment... then you see your badge laid on the bed, slipped out of your jacket. Oh, shit, you think, mind racing. You race out of the room but already five or six ugly fuckers are coming down the corridor.

Fucking women, is your last thought. Never get you anywhere.

In Detail

Conrad's is Night City's premier hang-out for bitter 2020 vets. It's just about the only place left in town that the police, or Corp security goons, won't touch. They know there's a fair chance they'll get their fucking heads blown off if they go in there, so most stay away. By day, it's populated by all manner of rejects who wile away their time getting their highs the plain old-fashioned way - drinking. Most are ex-Solos, who somehow didn't move on with the times and got caught up here, in this pocket of the town time forgot. By night, the place fills with the worst of this bunch - criminals, drug dealers, pimps and gun runners. Everybody in the know knows this, but they're too scared to even talk about it. Best left alone.

Every now and then, some juve thinks he's big enough to take on Conrad's. Usually, it'll take him ten minutes to realise he's not. A beating to leave you black and blue for weeks is enough for most people. The clientelle of Conrad's don't like feeling under pressure, you see. They like being among their own, and kids with big egos certainly aren't that. It doesn't take much provocation to force a drunk, high and bitter ex-Solo with a grudge to take out on someone, to slam your guts into the ceiling with an MT60.

Conrad's is a favourite haunt of Team One, the elite band of ex-Solos who represent pretty much all of Night City's major league crime. They base theirselves here, because they know it'll take someone pretty brave to even get close to them, and should they manage that, there'll be at least fifteen cop-hating 2020 vets at their side. Not odds most would argue with. Team One's leader, QT, is the most frequent visitor. He conducts much of his business here and probably accounts for half of the bar's trade in pure, Russian vodka. He takes a special delivery every couple of months, and always pays prompt. Everyone kind of guesses where he gets the money from.