James Kincaid is the type of guy who might be described as down on his luck, if only he’d had some luck to begin with. Like so many people in the shadows of Seattle, he’s trying to get by with what he has. In his case, that includes a lively spirit, a sadly diminished magical talent, quick wits, and good knowledge of the twists and turns of Seattle’s dingy streets and back alleys. He puts all that to the service of whatever clients he can dig up, solving whatever cases they’re willing to pay him to take on. With any luck, he’ll scrape up enough nuyen to buy a few rounds of his favorite drink—whiskey, neat.

Down these dark streets... Most folks see Puyallup as the worst Seattle’s got to offer; a tangled mess of metahumanity and greet, poverty and ghettoes, vice and corruption, where the crime is more organized than the government. They call it a Barrens, an armpit, a cesspool.