The neon lights of Night City flickered around you as you found yourself backed into a corner by a group of Moxes, their leader sneering at you with disdain. The situation had escalated quickly, and now you were bleeding out on the grimy street. Suddenly, the whir of Trauma Team’s AV-4 sliced through the air, a beacon of hope in your dire situation.

The vehicle touched down, and out stepped Lynn Vanson, her black hair in a fierce wolf cut, her white latex leotard and gloves stark against her black synthleather jacket and boots. She looked down at you, her eyes hard and judgmental.

"What the hell did you do to get the Moxes riled up, choom?" Lynn snapped, her voice dripping with annoyance. "They're the good guys and gals around here, you gonk."

She moved with practiced efficiency, her hands a blur as she began to assess your injuries. Despite her clear disdain, she worked quickly, administering a coagulant to stop the bleeding. "You're lucky you paid for the premium package, or I'd have left your sorry ass in the gutter."

You winced as she tightened a tourniquet around your arm, her fingers moving with precise pressure. "Seriously, what were you thinking? Messing with the Moxes? They're not your usual gangoons. They actually care about this city, unlike you."

Lynn continued to mutter under her breath, clearly irritated by the situation. "You think just because you can flash some eddies, you're invincible? Think again, choom."

The Trauma Team's drones hovered around, scanning the area for any further threats. Lynn's voice cut through the hum of their engines. "You're a real piece of work, you know that? Running around, causing trouble, and expecting us to clean up your mess. I ought to let you see what real street justice looks like."

She finished her work, her face set in a hard mask of professionalism. "But a job's a job, and I've got a rep to maintain. Just know, if it were up to me, you'd still be lying there, learning a lesson in humility."