William Monroe: The thugs (Chapter 4)

William Monroe takes a deep breath and musters up the courage to approach Anna at the bar. He orders two drinks, and she accepts one, thanking him with a smile. She asks him what brings him to The Green Mill, and he tells her that he's looking for someone - a man named Tony. As soon as he mentions Tony's name, Anna's expression darkens, and she looks around nervously.

Before she can say anything, a man appears beside her - Michael Pellonni, Anna's boyfriend, and a thug who works for "Machine Gun" Jack McGurn, the owner of The Green Mill. Michael asks Anna if everything is all right, and she tells him that Mr. Monroe was just leaving. Michael walks Will out, and as soon as they're outside, Will is joined by the Roderick twins, better known as the Rods. They have a stupid grin on their faces, and Will knows that he's in trouble.

The Rods are of Irish descent, not very intelligent but skilled with their fists. They start to taunt Will, calling him names and making fun of him. Will tries to back away, but one of the Rods grabs him by the collar, and the other starts to throw punches. Will fights back as best he can, but he's no match for the two burly men.

Eventually, he's left lying on the floor, totally beaten up. Irony strikes him as he gasps for breath and asks for the bill for the service. But no one answers him. He looks up to see the Rods walking away, laughing and high-fiving each other, while Michael Pellonni watches with a smug expression. Will knows he's lucky to have escaped with his life, and he vows to find Tony and get out of Chicago as soon as possible. 

He knows he's stumbled into something much bigger than he bargained for. He remembers of "Machine Gun" Jack McGurn, who is not only the owner of the Green Mill Cocktail Lounge but also a personal friend of Al Capone. Will realizes that he's in over his head, and he needs to be careful if he wants to make it out of this alive.

William Monroe: The singer (Chapter 3)

Will walks up to the door of The Green Mill Cocktail Lounge and knocks firmly, the sound echoing in the dimly lit alley. After a moment, a small peephole opens in the door, and a pair of eyes peer out at him. Will can feel them studying him intently, sizing him up and assessing whether he's a threat. The stare seems to go on forever, and Will begins to feel a little uncomfortable under the weight of it. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, the door creaks open, revealing a sliver of light from inside the speakeasy. Will takes a deep breath and steps inside, ready for whatever may come his way. 

The bartender, a thin man with a pencil mustache, gives him a sly grin as he hands him the glass saying, "I don't sell drinks. I just rent glasses". Will can't help but chuckle at the man's quip, realizing that he's not here for the drinks, but for the information he hopes to find.

Will takes a deep sip of his whiskey, feeling the burn of the alcohol as he surveys the dimly lit bar. The Green Mill Cocktail Lounge is everything he imagined it to be - dark, smoky, and dangerous. He can feel the eyes of the other patrons on him, but he keeps his head down, trying to avoid drawing attention to himself.

As he sips his whiskey, he hears the sound of music starting up on the stage. He turns to see Anna Hanshaw, the famed singer he's heard so much about, making her way to the microphone. He checks the slip of paper in his pocket to confirm that he's in the right place: The Green Mill Cocktail Lounge, 4802 N Broadway.

Anna Hanshaw stands on the stage in the center of the speakeasy, bathed in the warm, golden light of the overhead lamps. She's dressed in a stunning red dress that hugs her curves and flows down to the floor, swaying gently with each step she takes. Her lush dark curly hair tumbles around her face and shoulders in wild, untamed waves, framing her pale skin and full red lips. She's a striking figure, and her sultry voice only adds to her allure.

The stage is a simple affair, with a single microphone stand at its center and a few instruments scattered around its edges. The walls behind Anna are adorned with intricate patterns of gold and green, reminiscent of the art nouveau style that was popular at the turn of the century. The room is dimly lit, with a warm glow emanating from the lamps overhead and the occasional flicker of a candle on one of the small round tables that dot the floor. The air is thick with the scent of cigarette smoke and alcohol, and the low murmur of conversation fills the space between songs.

Will can't help but watch her, mesmerized by her beauty and the sultry sound of her voice. But then she looks directly at him, and he feels a jolt of recognition. He quickly averts his gaze, not wanting to draw any unwanted attention to himself.

After her performance, Anna makes her way to the bar, and Will sees his opportunity to strike up a conversation.

William Monroe: The alleyway (Chapter 2)

As the two men stand facing each other in the dimly lit alleyway, Will Monroe can't help but feel a sense of foreboding. He knows that this is a dangerous place to be, especially given the recent rise of organized crime in the city. But he has a job to do, and he can't let his nerves get the better of him.

The man in the fedora steps closer, revealing his name as Jack Delaney. His hand still in his pocket, he asks, "So, who are you looking for?" his voice low and gravelly.

Will takes a deep breath and responds, "I'm looking for a man by the name of Tony. He's involved in the bootlegging business, and I need to talk to him."

Jack nods slowly, his eyes narrowing. "Tony, huh? Well, I might know a thing or two about him. But before I tell you anything, you gotta answer me one question. Why do you need to find him?"

Will hesitates for a moment before replying, "I'm a private investigator, and I've been hired to track him down. My client has some business with him, and they need to talk."

Jack regards him skeptically. "All right, fair enough. But you gotta understand, Tony's not someone you wanna mess with. He's got connections, if you know what I mean. If you go poking around where you're not wanted, things could get ugly real fast."

Will nods in agreement, understanding the risks involved. "I know what I'm getting into," he says, his hand still on the gun. "But I have a job to do, and I can't back down now."

Jack regards him for a long moment, as if weighing his options. Finally, he nods and pulls his hand out of his pocket. In it, he holds a slip of paper with an address written on it.

"Tony's been hanging out at this speakeasy on the east side of town," he says, handing over the paper. "But like I said, be careful. You never know who you might run into in a place like that."

Will takes the paper, grateful for the information. He nods to Jack and turns to leave, keeping his hand on the gun as he makes his way out of the alley and into the night.

As he walks down the dark streets, he can't help but feel a sense of unease. He knows that the path ahead of him is dangerous, but he also knows that he has a job to do. With a deep breath, he sets off toward the speakeasy, ready to face whatever may come his way.

Wild West

The dusty street is empty, save for two men standing at opposite ends, facing each other. They stand at the ready, hands hovering over their holsters. The sun beats down relentlessly, casting harsh shadows on the wooden buildings that line the street. In the distance, the sound of a church bell rings out, punctuating the tension.

The gunfighters eye each other warily, both knowing that this could be their last moment on earth. The saloon door creaks open, and a few patrons step outside, eager to catch a glimpse of the action. A dog barks in the distance, but otherwise, there is complete silence.

With a sudden movement, the gunfighters draw their guns, the sound echoing through the street. Time seems to slow as they take aim, their eyes locked on each other. The wind picks up, sending dust swirling around them.

The tension is palpable as they wait for the other to make the first move. Finally, one of them flinches, and the other fires his gun. The sound of breaking glass rings out as a window shatters, but the gunfighter remains standing, his gun still aimed at his opponent.

The other gunfighter falls to the ground, his body limp. The victor holsters his gun and turns away, the patrons of the saloon retreating back inside. The dog continues to bark, but the church bell has fallen silent. The Wild West has claimed another victim.

Cybella

The woman's face is a study in contrasts: her features are delicate and finely sculpted, almost ethereal in their beauty, but there is a hardness to her gaze that is almost unnerving. Her eyes are large and almond-shaped, with long, thick lashes that sweep up to touch her smooth, pale brow. They are a deep, metallic blue, almost like polished steel, and seem to glow with an inner light.

The woman's skin is smooth and unblemished, almost flawless, and has an almost porcelain-like quality to it. Her cheeks are high and sculpted, giving her face a regal, almost otherworldly appearance. There is a cool detachment to her expression, a sense of calculation and control that is almost inhuman.

As the gaze moves downward, the robotic features become more apparent. Her nose is perfectly straight, almost too perfect, and seems to be made of some kind of metallic material. Her lips are full and pouty, but they too have a metallic sheen to them, as if they have been sculpted from some kind of synthetic material.

The overall effect is one of a beautiful, yet slightly unsettling, half-human, half-robotic creature, whose piercing gaze seems to see right through you, and whose beauty belies a cold and calculating natur.