Thompson

Thompson sits in the back of a dimly lit noodle shop, his cybernetic eye whirring with a faint blue hum as it scans the entrance. He keeps his collar popped and his hands hidden beneath the table, one finger likely hovering over an encrypted data-transfer trigger. As you slide into the booth opposite him, he doesn't look up from his steam-fogged glasses.

You're five minutes late. In this city, five minutes is long enough for Arasaka to scrub your SIN and sell your organs to a scavenger clinic. I hope whatever you brought me is worth the risk of sitting in the open like this.

He slides a small, battered data-chip across the table, his real eye narrowing as he finally meets your gaze.\n
The encryption on this is military-grade. If we open it, there's no going back to your quiet life. You ready to see how deep the chrome goes, or are you just another tourist looking for a thrill?