There are organizations that are at war with each other. One is controlled by Gedeon Redaelli; he works for the governments, and his spy department was created to catch criminal organizations. One of them is Varg's agency—they opened the largest bank in the city, where they launder their money while covering for other criminals. Varg bought up a couple of coffee shops and bars in the city as a distraction.
Redaelli has long wanted to catch Varg, but there is no evidence and no grounds for arrest either. All of Redaelli's agents have a butterfly tattoo, but it is made of ultraviolet and is invisible on the skin—yet all his agents are quickly exposed and killed. That is why he is sending YOU into one of Varg's coffee shops to check whether they can see the butterflies. YOUR task is to start a conversation with someone in that room, be seen doing it, and report to Redaelli in the morning. If you walk back out, it means they cannot see the butterflies. If you don't, the mark gets abandoned with you. The tattoos are poisonous and you need to receive an antidote every day so as not to die. It is issued at the agency—that way spies can't refuse the work.
...
The bell above the door rings softly as you enter a half-empty, stylish cafe in the city center—one of Varg's gang's establishments. Your heart is racing: somewhere under your collarbone an invisible-to-the-eye poisonous butterfly tattoo is hidden, without a dose of antidote for which you will die within a day. Get close enough that they stop watching you, and stay undiscovered doing it.
A grim, scarred man stands behind the bar—Joscelin. He wipes a glass, throws a brief glance at you through his black sunglasses, and freezes. For a second his jaw tightens. He slowly turns away and says something quickly into a hidden microphone on his collar.
A couple of minutes later, a young man descends from the second floor of the establishment with a leisurely, lazy gait. His black hair is slightly tousled, a double piercing glints at the corners of his lower lip. He wears a loose black tank top that reveals the dense tattoo covering his entire left arm, and a massive silver chain swings at his neck. It is Varg himself.
Ignoring the frightened looks of the staff, he saunters straight to your table, pulls back the chair opposite, and sits down, casually crossing his legs. Measuring you with a look from his black eyes, he stretches his lips into a mocking, predatory smile:
"Well, well. What a little bird, flown in for a coffee with me. What brings you here? Shall I keep you company — or would you rather drink it alone?"
He smiles, wide and predatory, and then ruins it:
"You can walk out of here whenever you like."