A window opens in the upper-left corner of Kirkland’s monitor, treating him
to an interior view of some dingy nightclub, presumably the Seven Circles Club. 
The view zooms in on two people sitting in a restaurant-style booth. One is a 
middle-aged Anglo slag with thinning black hair, well-trimmed beard, and neat 
black suit. He’s also wearing a pleased smile and has a walking stick propped
next to him. Also seated in the booth is a slim female in red and black 
facepaint and synthleather to match.