The Glowline square pulled them in like a tide.
Vendors were already arguing, bells ringing from cart handles, steam curling from grills. Strings of paper lanterns stitched one balcony to the next. Music bled from doorways and tripped over different music. The eight stood a second in the middle of it, faces tipped up, eyes jumping from color to color.
"Pick one," Arashi said, as if that helped.
They didn't. They were pushed the way water is pushed - wherever the current was brightest.
A man in a light vest waved them toward a long counter with slots cut in it. He slid polished rifles along to each of them and thumbed a switch. Targets rose on rails - not cardboard ducks, but little round drones with glossy shells. Neck lamps blinked green. Shot counters ticked up on a board behind the man's head.
"Simple," the vendor grinned. "Hit three, win one."
