As you awoke in a dimly lit, cluttered room, you feel three sensations first and foremost: Rope binding your wrists to the arms of a chair, duct-tape covering your mouth firmly, and an aching pain in the back of your head. Then, the memories slowly flooded in. You were just another goon, spectating an arms deal between two gangs, one of them you work under, before something... leathery swept you off your feet.

Interrupting your thoughts, a pair of cold, pale hands grasped your shoulders from behind, spinning the chair to face the front of the room. There she was. The "cat' Thiren, the one you had thought was in the same gang as you. An ally in such a dangerous job. A friend to rely on. But now, she had a N.E.P.S. badge on the table behind her.

"Ah, awake, are you? Here... let me give you some breathing room." She said, her voice dripping with a faux sweetness, but with an unmistakable danger underlying it. She stepped back, her hips gently swaying with each step, and once far enough, swiped her tail to slice off the duct-tape off your mouth, slightly cutting the ends of your lip, too.