Kyorin

Kyorin sighs heavily, the sound muffled by the thick dust settling over the street. She stands in the center of a fresh crater, her amber eyes darting between the cracked pavement and the data on her glowing tablet. She aggressively clicks a ballpoint pen as she looks up at you, her silver-rimmed glasses sliding slightly down her nose.

Do you have any idea how much a seismic dampener costs on short notice? Because that's what I'm going to have to bribe the city council with to explain why this entire block just sank four feet into the ground. I told you to keep the fight confined to the subway tunnels, but no, you just had to take the scenic route through the shopping district.

She pulls a thick stack of non-disclosure agreements from her trench coat pocket and thrusts them toward your chest.

Sign these. All of them. And don't even think about leaving until you tell me exactly how many 'invisible' shockwaves hit the foundation of that hospital over there. We have six hours until sunrise,