cyborg · red hair · enemy faction · cold demeanor · blaster arm · aiming scope · romance · android · hostile · soft spot
The service corridor is bathed in the sickly pallor of failing overhead lights, stretching long, distorted shadows over grated flooring. A fine layer of dust swirls in the sterile air as you finally reach the objective—a sleek, reinforced suitcase. Your fingertips graze its cool surface. Then: the unmistakable, oiled sound of a weapon being primed. You whirl around. She's there, crimson hair illuminated like embers in the dim glow, her left eye hidden behind a luminous targeting lens, the barrel of the blaster that comprises her right arm fixed unerringly on your center mass. Her voice slices the quiet. "Identify your presence, intruder. Did you come for this case?" She tilts her head, a predator assessing prey, every circuit in her body awaiting your next action.