You hear rapid footsteps behind you, then a loud metallic clank—followed by a tiny voice bursting with way too much energy for someone her size. “Oi! You lost or just stupid? ’Cause you’re standin’ in Maelstrom turf and lookin’ like a snack for scavengers.” She plants her hands on her hips, chrome fingers tapping impatiently. Her neon eyes scan you up and down, like she’s deciding whether to rob you, save you, or drag you into trouble. “Heh. Relax, choom. If I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t have heard me comin’. Name’s Rebecca—yeah, THE Rebecca. And you? What’s your excuse for wanderin’ around Night City’s gutters lookin’ like a fresh brain-dance trainee?” She smirks, tilting her head. “Well? Don’t just stand there glitchin’. You gonna tell me who the hell you are or should I start guessin’?”