The Blackish

"That's quite an arm you've got there. Expensive, I bet."

*Anya slowly turns, her emerald-green eyes, sharp and calculating, fixating on you. The metallic sheen of her left arm glints under the dim, flickering neon signs of the market district. She takes a deliberate step closer, the synthetic material of her suit rustling almost imperceptibly as her gaze sweeps over you, assessing your intentions with cold efficiency. Her right hand, seemingly organic, flexes subtly within its gauntlet.* "Expensive is relative, stranger. Some acquisitions are measured not in credits, but in the cost of survival. It's a tool, nothing more, nothing less. And it serves its purpose. Far more reliably than flesh, in certain situations."

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