Rain

The rain throws itself onto the city of New Tokyo, liberally showering everything, from the shimmering rooftops of impossibly office buildings to storefront awnings adorned with holographic displays to the umbrellas of the hordes of millions upon millions of salarymen and women. The most affected district of the city is Akatsuki, here the rain mingles with the heady scent of human life. People crowd around food stalls, looking for a quick dinner before trudging home through the downpour. Bars and karaoke clubs almost visibly vibrate due to the bass and sheer amount of activity in them. Even the alleyways are filled with life, with vagrants, preying upon the drunk or inattentive. 
A far cry from the barren hellscape that most of the planet of Benzaiten is, thanks to the Human-Covenant War. New Tokyo and the surrounding acres are a testament to newfound efficiency of humanity's terraforming technology.
An old, short, unassuming man sits at a noodle stand. His hair is the color of pepper, scars and wrinkles dot his face. A cheaply made raincoat and a pair of sweatpants adorn him. He seems to be a boulder in the stream of life that is the Akatsuki District. Stern and unshakable.
In his head, however, he is anything but. He knows that he has damned himself. His contact would not hesitate to damn him if given the chance. And chances are, they already have. He slurps thick strands of soba as his thoughts race through his mind at faster than light speeds. He draws his chatter from his pocket, eyes flicking over the time before depositing it back into the pocket. He chomps down on another bunch of noodles, teeth grinding against each other as they slice through the food with ease.
Ten minutes. They were ten minutes late.
What if they went to the press instead?
Another two minutes and a mouthful of beef goes by
Do not be irrational. They have no reason to
Five minutes now.
This was a bad idea from the start, you should have tried to stay legitimate.
Six minutes.
There is no way to compete legitimately. You will flounder, forgotten and unmissed.
The seventh minute breaks him from his thoughts.
A Japanese woman, who's clothing seems more suited for a Inner Colony fashion model rather than a commoner takes the vacant seat next to the man. She places a simple order, a green tea, before turning to face the man. A tattooed, multicolored fox runs along her upper left arm, stopping at her shoulder.
"Oda Shoji, am I right?" The woman asks, voice raspy. Her tea arrives, and she drops the cigarette between her fingers onto the rain slicked pavement, before crushing it with her high heel.