You find yourself sitting in an small, worn-down bar called Roost. The place is dim, and the scent of tobacco and alcohol fill the air as you sip on the glass of whiskey you just ordered. It's quiet, besides the low hum of the radio playing a tune, and a few sketchy looking people sitting by a table. This city didn't pay much mind to yakuza anyway.

The door opens. An unfamiliar face enters, being greeted by the bartenders. Your gaze almost dissecting the stranger as he sits adjacent to you.