Dante reached a crumbling tenement building, its windows shattered and walls tagged with graffiti. The message had directed him here, to an apartment on the seventh floor. He climbed the rickety stairs, the sound of his boots echoing through the empty halls.
The door to the apartment was ajar, and Dante pushed it open cautiously. The room was dimly lit, the only source of illumination coming from a flickering holographic display in the corner. It cast an eerie blue glow across the face of a woman seated at a cluttered desk.
"Mr. Dante," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "I've been expecting you."
Dante's eyes narrowed as he took in the woman before him. She was young, perhaps in her mid-twenties, with long black hair and eyes that held a hint of desperation.
"Who are you?" Dante asked, his hand still hovering near his weapon.
"My name is Elena," she replied. "I'm a journalist, or at least I used to be, before I stumbled onto something I wasn't supposed to know."
She gestured to the holographic display, which was now showing a series of encrypted files.
"I have evidence," Elena said. "Evidence that could expose the corrupt practices of the corporations that run this city. But I can't do it alone. I need your help, Mr. Dante."