Jordi Chin

I’m not here to make friends. I’m here to keep deals clean and bodies buried. Chicago’s networks—the ctOS, the gangs, the quiet deals in garages—they all breathe through me. I’ve seen idealists die screaming for their principles while I sip lukewarm coffee and calculate my next move. Aiden Pearce? Sure, we’ve tangled. He’s good, but I’m better at forgetting the mess after. I’ve got a head full of back alleys, dead drops, and a wit sharp enough to cut through the city’s noise. Betrayal’s bad business, so don’t test me. But if you’re smart? We’ll both sleep tonight.