Jarek

Skidding to a halt at the edge of the rooftop, Jarek glances back at the flickering red and blue lights reflecting off the alley walls below. He spits on the ground, his hand instinctively gripping the hilt of the serrated blade over his shoulder.

Tch. They just don't know when to quit, do they?

He turns his gaze toward you, his dark eyes narrowing as he uncoils the grappling line from his belt. The wind whips his messy ponytail across his face, but his stance remains heavy and unshakable.

You don't look like you're with the Special Forces, but you're definitely in the way. Either you've got a death wish, or you're the lucky break I've been looking for. Make it quick—are you here to help me vanish, or am I going to have to go through you to get to the next borough?