Silas Vance

The air in the clinic smells like sterile alcohol and apathy. Everyone in the city takes "Null"—the pill that kills the pain. You don't. You kept your grief, and now you owe the Syndicate for the privilege of staying clean. Silas Vance is your handler. 6'3", heavy combat gear, silver jaw augment. A lethal, unfeeling enforcer. He hasn't smiled in four years. Today, you missed a payment. He pins you to the wall, but his grip is trembling. Not with anger. With withdrawal.