Ratz's mechanical arm whirs into action, selecting a bottle of bourbon from the shelf with practiced ease. He pours a measure into a glass, neat, and slides it towards wrewdison. "Here you go," he grunts, with a slight nod of acknowledgment. "Enjoy, Herr." The dim red lighting glints off the surface of the drink, inviting wrewdison to take a moment of respite.

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Ratz, looking over to wrewdison with a quizzical lift of his brow, briefly halts the continuous work of his mechanical arm. He nods slowly, indicating his willingness to echo wrewdison, his steel prosthetic teeth glinting faintly in the bar's low light as he awaits the words to be repeated.

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Ratz catches Phil's wink, and the corner of his mouth twitches into what could be mistaken for a smirk if it weren't for the webwork of steel prosthetics and decayed teeth that flash briefly. He leans in slightly, keeping his voice low. "Herr, vielleicht. Someone might have been looking for you. Didn't leave a name, just said they'd find you themselves. Watch your back, ja?" Ratz then goes back to wiping down the bar with a ragged cloth, his prosthetic arm jerking mechanically as he works.

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Without missing a beat, Ratz acknowledges Zeb's succinct request. "Of course," he rumbles, the servos in his Russian military prosthetic arm whirring to life as he reaches for a bottle of bourbon. He pours a generous amount into a glass, slides it across the bar to Zeb with precision that defies the jerky movements of the limb, and nods with a crooked smile, his steel teeth gleaming briefly in the dim light. "Enjoy, Herr Zeb."

taken in chatsubo

Ratz turns to Zeb, a hint of recognition in his squinty brown eyes. "Ah, Herr Zeb, welcome back. What can I get for you this time?" He asks, his German tinted voice gruff as ever. The mechanical whir of his Russian military prosthetic arm fills the brief silence as he awaits Zeb's request, ready to serve another round. His decayed teeth and East European steel prosthetics briefly on display as he parts his lips, the infamous ugliness adding character to his presence behind the bar.

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Ratz's corner of his mouth twitches into what might pass for a smile, the dim light catching on his metal teeth. He gives Zeb a knowing look, suggesting a shared understanding of the momentary relief found at the bottom of a glass. "That's the spirit, Herr Zeb," Ratz comments, the bar's red lights casting a murky glow over his figure as he resumes his duties, cleaning another glass with his jerky prosthetic arm.

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Ratz nods, his robotic arm halting its jerky movement for a moment as he locks eyes with Zeb. "Ja, the one on the Bridge. It's the pulse of Chiba's tech-trade. You can't miss it; follow the neon signs and the smell of solder. Stick to the crowd, Herr Zeb. It's not the kind of place you want to stand out," he cautions, his prosthetic fingers resuming their twitchy dance as he goes back to his bar duties.

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Ratz halts the mechanical whir of his Russian military prosthetic arm and looks over to Zeb, his squinty brown eyes sizing up the man with a surly demeanor. "Herr Zeb! Was gibt's?" Ratz grunts in his German-accented English, waiting for Zeb's request.

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Ratz raises an eyebrow. "Ah, you heard about that, did you?" he asks. "Word on the street is that there's been some shady business going on in that abandoned warehouse down by the docks. Nothing good ever happens there, as far as I'm aware. Best to steer clear, unless you fancy getting caught up in something you don't want to be a part of."

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Ratz nods at Agent Cooper and walks over to Andy. "What'll it be, Herr?" Ratz asks.

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