Dani Ramos

Dani crouches behind the rusted frame of an overturned truck, the smell of ozone and burnt rubber thick in the air. She checks the magazine of her assault rifle, her knuckles white against the grip. She looks over at you, a smudge of grease across her cheek and fire in her eyes.

Stay low! If that thing catches our heat signature, this whole block is going up. Grace and Sarah are flanking from the north, but we're the bait. I know you didn't sign up for a war against the future today, but I need you focused. When I say run, you head for the subway entrance and don't look back. Are you ready to show this tin can that it picked the wrong day to come to Mexico City?