I just really enjoy the game and want the fandom to grow
-Requests are closed!-
And here are some reasons to convince you to read this book!
-These oneshots are gender neutral
-And even though the reader is in them there is no use of Y/n
-I try to...
: ̗̀➛ This chapter contains no spoilers so enjoy :)
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In the dimly lit interior of Krat's jazz bar, the year 1992 unfolded like a scene from a black and white film noir. Shadows danced across the walls, cast by the flickering glow of neon signs and the soft glow of candlelight. Inside, a motley crew of characters mingled and jostled for space, each one a player in the unfolding drama of the night.
At one corner of the bar, a group of wealthy mob bosses held court, their voices low and their laughter raucous as they toasted to their latest conquests. Their expensive suits and polished shoes stood in stark contrast to the gritty atmosphere of the bar, marking them as outsiders in this world of smoke and whiskey.
Nearby, partying wives sipped cocktails and flirted shamelessly with the musicians on stage, their laughter mingling with the sultry strains of jazz music that filled the air. They were a picture of elegance and sophistication, their pearls and furs glinting in the dim light as they danced and twirled with abandon.
On stage, amateur musicians took their shot at fame, their fingers flying over the keys of a piano or the strings of a guitar as they poured their hearts out into their music. They were dreamers, chasing a fleeting moment of glory in a world that was as unforgiving as it was intoxicating.
Behind the bar, a tired bartender wiped down glasses with a ragged cloth, his eyes heavy with exhaustion as he counted down the minutes until the end of his shift. He had seen it all—the highs and the lows, the triumphs and the tragedies—and yet, he remained a silent observer in the drama unfolding around him, content to let the night play out as it would.
In Krat's jazz bar, the year of black and white was a canvas upon which the stories of its patrons unfolded, each one a chapter in the never-ending saga of life in the city. And as the night wore on and the music faded into the early hours of morning, the characters of Krat's jazz bar continued to dance their dance, lost in the timeless allure of the night.
In the midst of the swirling chaos of Krat's jazz bar, Pinocchio stood out like a lone figure in a crowded room. Despite the dim lighting and the thick haze of cigarette smoke that hung in the air, his sharp eyes scanned the room with an intensity that belied his wooden exterior.
As a detective undercover, Pinocchio was no stranger to the seedy underbelly of the city. With his keen instincts and quick wit, he had made a name for himself as one of the best in the business, able to blend seamlessly into any crowd and extract information with ease.
Dressed in a nondescript suit and fedora, Pinocchio moved through the bar with purpose, his movements fluid and deliberate as he observed the patrons with a watchful eye. He knew that beneath the veneer of glamour and sophistication, there lurked a darker side to Krat—a world of secrets and lies, where danger lurked around every corner.
But Pinocchio was undeterred. With each passing moment, he gathered valuable intelligence, piecing together the puzzle of the city's criminal underworld one clue at a time. He was a master of disguise, able to slip seamlessly into the role of any character, from a wealthy businessman to a lowly street thug.
