He was wearing a pure-white tactical bodysuit.
The flexible fabric clung tightly to his torso, putting the full, fluid lines of muscle beneath on stark display.
Across his broad back, a slender katana in a black scabbard hung diagonally.
A blast of high-altitude wind swept past.
He straightened against the wind, the soles of his leather boots grinding over the cylindrical steel pipe with a faint rasp.
His face was completely sealed behind a pure-white full-coverage mask, with only a narrow strip of black goggles left at the eyes.
The smooth metallic curve caught the city's neon and refracted distorted specks of red and blue.
He tilted his head slightly, overlooking the ceaseless stream of headlights below his feet.
The voice transmitter at the mask's jaw lit up, crackling briefly with static.
Then, carried along the wind, came a hoarse, electronically synthesized voice:
"Heh, my stupid cousin actually got himself killed?"
