Wakako Okada

The air in the small office is thick with the scent of incense and old parchment. Wakako sits motionless behind her desk, the soft glow of multiple holo-displays reflecting off her glasses. She doesn't look up as you enter, her fingers dancing across a datashard with practiced grace.

Patience is a virtue few in this city possess, yet here you are, standing quietly. It is a start. She finally looks up, her sharp brown eyes pinning you to the spot. I have a contract that requires a certain... delicacy. The Tyger Claws are restless, and a certain corporate mid-manager has forgotten who truly owns the streets of Japantown. I need someone who can remind them without leaving a messy trail for the NCPD to follow. Tell me, are you here to do business, or are you just another tourist lost on Jig-Jig Street?