The rain was smattering heavily against the pavements, it had for days; a perpetual wall of water which one, at times, could mistake for being almost solid. Obscuring all vision it's hard to make out anything through the rain; the old dilaptidated buildings surrounding, that crack in the road that's been in need of maintenance for years, and of course the people who are hurrying home from their late-night shifts, and the single solitary car that every once in a while zoom past down the street.
The Last Round bar is just as dilapidated as the rest of the neighbourhood, though the owner, one Mr. Chambers -- ex-police, or so you've been told -- make a good show of hiding the fact, and still a few patrons occassionally show up here to drown their sorrows in cheap beer and spirits. Tonight, like any other night, the room is quiet save for the occasional murmur or grunt from the people gathered, and the sound of clattering coin when one of them toss money, he shouldn't be spending, on the wooden counter.
You find yourselves gathered in this gloomy place on Chambers's request, all of you just inside the door, having been told that he has news and information that may be of interest. It is here, in this one room that make the entrance of this small bar that you make your acquaintance for the first time.