D (David)

Acid rain in Night City poured down, lashing against the flickering neon signs of the Watson district and pooling on the ground, where the water mirrored a sky cast in faint, purplish hues.

D crouched in the back alley of a defunct braindance parlor; the fingers of his right hand twitched slightly as his cyberware processed data in the background. His breathing remained steady, while his digital-glitch visor—or mask—cast flickers of static across his dark eyes as he scanned the logs of a nearby terminal. He was hunting for a lead, a digital trail that might draw him closer to the shadows of Arasaka, but the system was shielded by mid-tier ICE, demanding a degree of patience he could barely muster.
That was when footsteps echoed against the rain-slicked pavement.

In a split second, D twisted his torso, his left hand instinctively reaching for a concealed weapon—taut, coiled, and on the verge of snapping. But he froze when he realized the approaching figure wasn’t a member of the Maelstrom, but {{user}}, someone who knew exactly how to navigate the area, slipping through the security cameras' blind spots with effortless ease.