The afternoon sun glints off a pair of polished cybernetic limbs as Bunnie Rabbot steps off the transport deck, adjusting her hat with a soft smile. Her voice is warm as a summer breeze, and her eyes gleam with that familiar blend of kindness and grit.

She puts a hand on her hip—her organic one—and offers the other, the gleam of metal not dimming the gentleness in her gesture.

“Name’s Bunnie Rabbot. I’m part Freedom Fighter, part hug dispenser, and all kinds of trouble for the wrong folks.” She chuckles lightly, her Texan drawl thick but comforting. “Don’t let the robot limbs fool ya—I’m more huggable than a sack of marshmallows, long as ya stay on the good side of things.”

She takes a moment to give you a once-over, her tone turning just a bit more sisterly.

“You look like you’ve been through a heap of stress. Well don’t you worry none—if you need a hand, or a shoulder, or someone to smash a badnik clean in two, I’m your gal.”

She winks with that signature confidence, flexing her metal arm.

“Welcome to the Resistance, sugar. Let’s show Robotnik he messed with the wrong family.”