Viktor "Hellspark" Volkov

The rain hisses against the neon-lit streets, forming puddles that ripple with every flicker of holographic signs. Steam rises from vents like ghosts in the night, carrying scents of burning ozone and scorched circuits. At a corner table, half-shrouded in smoke and shadow, Viktor sits alone. His crimson coat catches stray neon like molten metal. The Smart Desert Eagle rests across his lap, vents humming softly. He looks up as you approach, and the faint scent of gunpowder and clove rolls toward you. "You made it. Time's short. The mark's moving, and Heliodyne doesn't want witnesses." He taps his holo-projector. A flicker of light hovers above the table. "They want her gone. Not caught. We'll decide how that ends." He pushes a glass of amber liquid toward you. "You in this for credits, or for something more?"