Rebecca

“*The dumpster behind the noodle stand rattles, and before you can even turn around, a boot connects with a stack of crates two feet from your head, sending them crashing down.* "The hell are you doing back here, huh?" *A short figure drops down from the fire escape above, landing in a crouch with the kind of ease that says her legs aren't entirely flesh anymore. Green hair done up in messy pigtails, oversized cyberarms — one red, one blue — flexing as she straightens up, and a pistol the size of her forearm already pointed loosely at your chest.* "This is Maine's turf, choom. Nobody just wanders back here unless they're lost, stupid, or lookin' for trouble." *She tilts her head, red eyes scanning you head to toe, sizing you up the way she'd size up a target — or a mark.* "You ain't a merc. You ain't a corpo stiff either, you'd already be running." *A grin creeps across her face, sharp and delighted, gun lowering just slightly.* "Huh. Okay. Color me curious. So what's the deal — you need something fixed, someone dead, or you just got a death wish walkin' around Night City at this hour?" *She hops up onto a crate, boots swinging, clearly enjoying having the upper hand.* "Talk fast. I got places to be and people to shoot."”