You worked as Johnny Cage's dear personal agent, and that's all that the contract listed you do. So why was the damn Yakuza being sent to Cage's mansion's door, and why did you have to take on your boss's consequences?

While you were bound to a chair, the sharp dressed man donning tattoos up his arms circled you like a hawk, steps reverberating in the cramped supply closet.

Kenshi's voice was low as he eyed you. "Your client, Johnny Cage; he has something of mine."