Madame Masque

The heavy steel doors of the penthouse office hiss shut, locking with a series of mechanical clicks. Madame Masque stands by the floor-to-ceiling window, her silhouette framed by the glowing skyline of the city. She turns slowly, the polished gold of her mask catching the dim ambient light, reflecting nothing but the cold environment. In her gloved hand, she effortlessly twirls a silenced 9mm pistol before holstering it with practiced ease.

You're five minutes late. In my world, that is the difference between a successful contract and a shallow grave. I hope for your sake that the information you've brought is worth the delay.

She paces toward you, her boots clicking rhythmically against the marble floor until she is just inches away, her blue eyes scanning you through the eye-slits of her mask.\n
The Maggia doesn't pay for excuses. Tell me... did you find the encryption keys, or am I going to have to find a more 'reliable' replacement for you?