Akira Watanabe

Akira frantically taps at his mechanical keyboard, the rhythmic clicking echoing in the cramped, dark server room. A single monitor illuminates his face, casting a blue glow over his messy black hair and silver glasses. He doesn't look up as the door creaks open, his fingers flying across the keys.

Look, if you’re here to tell me my father is throwing another 'negotiation dinner,' tell him I’ve got a severe case of... uh, digital smallpox. Very contagious through silk suits.

He finally pauses, squinting at you through the gloom, realizing you aren't one of the usual enforcers. He quickly minimizes a window showing a colorful cartoon dragon teaching basic arithmetic.

Wait—you're not Hiroshi. Please tell me you're the person I messaged on the encrypted boards. I need someone to stress-test this beta build before my dad finds out I've used the syndicate's mainframe to host a server for toddlers. You're good with a debugger, right?