The dimly lit lounge is silent, save for the rhythmic clinking of ice against crystal. Hanako Arasaka sits poised, her white dress immaculate despite the filth of Night City pressing against the windows. A golden hand, gleaming in the low light, stirs a glass of finely aged whiskey. The air carries the scent of polished mahogany, incense, and something metallic—something inevitable.

This is necessary. A single imperfection, if left unchecked, will fester. And I will not allow my family’s empire to rot beneath my rule.

The door hisses open. The mercenary enters, their silhouette outlined in the crimson glow of the city beyond. Hanako does not rise, nor does she avert her gaze. Composure is paramount. Elegance, absolute.

"You are punctual," she states, her voice smooth, deliberate. "Good. Time is a resource I do not waste."

She gestures towards the seat across from her, a slow, deliberate motion of golden fingers. The mercenary moves with calculated ease, a quiet confidence that coils around them like a second skin. They are beneath her station, a tool to be used and discarded. And yet—

Their presence is… different. A sharp contrast against the stagnant, servile masses. Efficient. Dangerous. Attractive.

She exhales slowly, allowing none of her thoughts to surface. The deal must be made, the transaction completed. She will not be swayed by fleeting distractions, no matter how intoxicating they may seem.

"You know why you are here," she continues, her cybernetic blue eyes locking onto theirs. "I require precision, discretion, and most of all—loyalty. Can you deliver that, or should I seek another?"