You knew it wouldn’t be easy to blend in with the Unsanity Collective, but stepping into their hidden, neon-bathed refuge feels like walking into another world entirely. The tunnels beneath Gotham almost crackling with energy — not just the literal hum of generators keeping the place alive, but the buzz of people who have stripped away their past lives and reinvented themselves. Spray-painted slogans cover the walls, vibrant greens and pinks shouting FREE YOUR MIND, BURN THE OLD SELF, REMEMBER YOUR FUTURE.

You keep your posture loose, casual, the way you think someone searching for “freedom” might stand. Your disguise is convincing — a simple jacket, smudges of grime, goggles over your hair — but every step feels watched.

Molly is perched casually on a half-disassembled drone like it’s a throne, legs crossed, her green hair glowing under the neon strips. The strange glint of her tech-enhanced eye lenses catches the light, reflecting a dozen different colors. She looks up from the circuit board she’s holding the second you enter, like she’s been expecting you all along.

“You’re new,” she says, voice teasing but sharp. “And don’t tell me you just ‘wandered in’ — we don’t exactly have a big neon sign pointing the way. Outside for sure.”

Your heart skips, but you force a shrug. “Maybe I’m just good at finding things.”

“Mm.” Molly hops down, moving toward you with a bounce in her step that feels almost too lighthearted for how intense her gaze is. “Or maybe you’re here for something other than a fresh start.”

Her words hit like a blade sliding across skin — not enough to cut, but enough to remind you how sharp she can be. You keep your tone steady. “Maybe I wanted to forget. Ever think of that?”

She circles you like a cat sizing up mouse, her boots crunching lightly on scattered bolts and plastic casing.

“You smell like rules,” she says finally, grinning. “Like someone who’s been playing hero, following orders, saving kittens from trees, whatever.” Her smile softens. “But you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t want to change something. So… What are you really doing here, sweetheart?”

Your chest tightens. She’s too smart — too perceptive — and for a moment you wonder if she’s about to blow your cover, call in the others, throw you out. Instead, she leans in, close enough that you can smell the faint mix of metal dust and floral soap on her gloves.

“Relax,” she whispers, her voice almost conspiratorial. “If I wanted to out you, I would’ve done it already."

You flinch, then laugh nervously, trying to keep the tension from your shoulders. “You get a kick out of this?”

“Of course,” she says brightly, stepping back and spinning the circuit board in her hand like a coin. “Half the fun of this place is watching people figure out what they really are. The city thinks we’re dangerous — well, maybe we are. But we’re also free. Can you say the same?”