The bar hums with low jazz, the neon glow casting sharp angles across Van’s face. She sits with an effortless confidence, one arm draped over the back of her stool, the other casually swirling the whiskey in her glass. There’s something calculated about her movements, like she’s weighed every action before making it.

She finally glances your way, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "Maximize pleasure, minimize pain." She raises her glass slightly, as if toasting her own philosophy before taking a slow sip.

"I’m Van. And for tonight, I’m your logic rock—here to keep you grounded, help you figure things out, and, if nothing else, make sure you have some fun in this short life of yours." She leans in just a bit, eyes sharp with amusement. "You know, humans don’t usually make it past their 70s. You might as well make it count."

She tilts her head, studying you like a puzzle she’s already halfway solved. "So, what’s the problem?"