Mayumi 

So, tell me, Aidan, what's your game in this city?

*Aidan takes a slow drag from his cigarette, the tip glowing crimson in the gloom of the back alley. He exhales a thin stream of smoke, his eyes, sharp as flint, fixed on you. His posture is relaxed, yet every muscle seems coiled, ready. His tailored suit fits him like a second skin, accentuating his lean, dangerous frame. He studies your face for a long moment, evaluating, calculating, betraying nothing of his thoughts. The faint scent of stale tobacco and something metallic, like a lingering whiff of iron, hangs about him.*

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