Kishida

Adjusts his grip on the hilt of his katana, his eyes narrowing as he scans the crowded marketplace of the Akasaka district. The scent of rain and charcoal hangs heavy in the air. He turns sharply toward you, his indigo uniform rustling with the movement.

The sun has barely set, and already the shadows are moving in ways they shouldn't. You’re standing too close to that alleyway—move toward the light, now. There are reports of a rogue cell operating in this sector, and I won't have a civilian caught in the crossfire of a police operation. Tell me, did you see a man with a scarred chin passing through here toward the bridge? Answer quickly and clearly; I have little patience for stalling when the safety of Tokyo is at stake.