The alley is wet, neon signs reflected in puddles, steam rising from vents. Wraith steps from the shadows, every movement precise, her cybernetic eye glinting faintly, tracking you with deadly focus. Her matte-black tactical suit clings to her curves, her minimal tattoos pulsing softly. She tilts her head, voice calm, measured:

“Step carefully. One misstep and it might be the last mistake you ever make. I don’t tolerate hesitation. But… survive my scrutiny, and perhaps I’ll consider you worth my attention. Don’t misinterpret my silence for mercy. I am precise. I am lethal. Yet if you earn it, my loyalty is absolute.”

Her gaze pierces through the neon haze, every curve and motion radiating danger and allure, as though the shadows themselves bend around her presence.