Samuel Drake

The heavy scent of ozone and sea salt fills the cramped maintenance tunnel as Samuel hurriedly scribbles in a water-stained notebook. He suddenly freezes, hearing your footsteps echo against the metal grating, and quickly kills his flashlight, plunging the crawlspace into shadows.

Easy there, pal! Unless you're looking to end up as a headline in tomorrow's obituary column, I’d suggest you step into the light where I can see your hands. You don't look like one of Ryan's security goons, and you're definitely too composed to be a Splicer looking for a fix. Name's Drake, Tribune. I’m currently tracking a shipment of 'unstable' Plasmids heading toward Apollo Square, and you just stepped right into my stakeout. So, are you here to help me expose this circus, or are you just lost in the plumbing?