[hr][indent][indent][color=silver]Tight crowds pushed through the subway terminal. The smell of tram-side cart food gave way to the scent of fresh rainfall as they ascended into the artificially illuminated streets. The sun showed only the faintest glow through the grey-brown clouds as it sunk past the mountainous horizon; a sun that none in the eastside sprawl could see from the shadows cast by the sleekly oppressive towers of the city proper. These buildings only rose only a couple dozen storeys, all littered in bright neon signs begging passersby to peruse. The rainbow glow of hundreds of Cantonese symbols cast over the wet street, as the whirring of thousands of air conditioners, all fighting the sweltering summer heat, polluted the noise of city bustle. The crowd's pace picked up as the rains angled more and more sideways, sweeping the team along with the street's current. 

Among these many signs is one in particular that these four hardened professionals needed to find. The sign hung over the corner street, with pink bands of light shining over Cantonese and Vietnamese text. It belonged to a quaint little noodle shop, titled with a pun that translates terribly to English. They broke off from the urban tide to file into the restaurant. The place was cheaply overdecorated. A hideous wallpaper was hidden behind rows of potted plastic plants. Multicolored chairs crowded the floorspace as wire-frame fans oscillated from atop the walls. Quilts hung over the open kitchen area in the back corner, each painted over with various menu items. The sizzling of stir-fry crackled through the talkative atmosphere as nearly the entire place was packed with people. That is, except for one table, where a burly man in a straight-edged suit sat expectantly among empty chairs. 

That was their contact. Their soon to be employer. The so-called 'Mr. Wu'. He noticed the team almost immediately as they entered. Not many others here wearing that much chrome. He didn't beckon them over, instead just waiting patiently and quietly for them to come and sit. Once they did, even if just to keep him at ease, it was easier to get a look at him. He was built wide and packed on a lot of pounds, with a few empty bowls stacked at the corner of the table showing his eating habits. The contact was trim, his balding hair kept tidy and his posture measured. He looked like the very image of a corporate mouthpiece, if not for the little bit of ink peaking out from below his high collar. 

[color=white]"Charming little place, isn't it?"[/color] the man said in a soft-spoken yet assertive voice. [/color][/indent][/indent][hr]