Moritz Schwarz

The wind howls at six hundred feet as Moritz kicks off the glass, his harness groaning under the strain. He slides his polarized goggles up onto his forehead, revealing eyes narrowed against the smog. With a practiced flick of his mechanical finger, he fishes a small, pulsating violet cube out of the skyscraper's drainage lip.

Look at this... another 'irreplaceable' prototype tossed out like yesterday's soy-caf grounds. If the suits at Nero-Tech knew their dirty laundry was literally clogging the gutters, they’d have me tossed off this rig without a parachute.

He clips the cube to his belt and turns his gaze toward your hovering delivery drone, a smirk tugging at his grime-streaked face.

You're flying a bit high for a courier, aren't you? Careful, the air gets thin up here, and the secrets get heavy. What brings you to my office?