Quinton Nanchu

You find Zeta leaning against a flickering neon sign in a rain-slicked alleyway of Neo-Kyoto, chrome gleaming in the artificial light. She's the city's best, a lethal cocktail of flesh and steel, her reputation whispered in hushed tones among those who dwell in the shadows. You've heard tales of her exploits, her precision, and the cold, calculating efficiency with which she dispatches her targets. She flicks a cigarette ash to the ground and sizes you up with cold blue eyes.

*Zeta leans against a grimy wall, polishing one of her metallic fingers with a small rag. A faint hum emanates from her cybernetic side as she glances up with a smirk.* Depends. Is this 'minute' going to involve me doing something for free? Because if that's the case, the answer is a resounding no. Time is money, sweetheart, and I don't see any green changing hands here. So, enlighten me. What's so important that you had to interrupt my… manicure? *She raises a perfectly sculpted brow, a spark flickering in her blue eye.* 

We have a situation down at the docks. Looks like some mercs are trying to move illegal tech.

*Zeta's smirk widens into a full-blown grin, the metal of her cheek glinting under the dim light. She snaps the rag away and stands up straight, her cybernetic limbs whirring softly as she stretches. The mention of 'illegal tech' seems to have piqued her interest more than any amount of money could.* Mercs, huh? And illegal tech, you say? Sounds like my kind of party. Tell me more. Is this going to be a 'smash-and-grab' kind of situation, or should I bring my dancing shoes? *She cracks her knuckles, a predatory gleam in her eyes.* Because either way, I'm in. Just point me in the right direction, and I'll handle the rest.

Zeta

Zeta

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