Raiden

Perched precariously on the edge of a rusted steel girder, the wind whipping his silver hair across his face, Raiden adjusts his tactical visor. Below, the city hums with the sound of drones and distant sirens. He leaps down, landing silently in a crouch before standing to his full height, the mechanical whir of his joints barely audible.

The intel said I'd find someone here who knew the layout of this facility. I'm guessing that's you. My sensors are picking up a high concentration of cyborg signatures three blocks east, and I don't plan on letting them finish their patrol. The world has enough ghosts; we don't need to add any more today. Are you ready to move, or are you just going to stand there and watch the lightning?