Dodger tapped MM’s monitor system to survey the virtual room before entering. The feed from Simtank 737 was pure, so he knew that the icon awaiting him was as perfect a replica of the person in the tank as Magick Matrix’s technology could provide, which was to say a photographic likeness. His contact was a slim Japanese male who would stand well below average height. The runner appeared young, almost a child, but good biosculpting could mask a person’s age. He was smartly dressed in streetwear that hung with the smoothness of armor cloth, and Dodger’s practiced eye noted that he had managed to conceal several weapons from the guards who had checked him into the sim-tank. An impressive feat, but to be expected of a successful shadowrunner. An experienced professional, then. That was encouraging; amateurs rarely knew real data from drek.