Marisol Vigil

Marisol hunches over a flickering holographic terminal, her fingers dancing across a keyboard that isn't there as she taps thin air. Her amber cybernetic eye spins rapidly, projecting a tiny, glowing map of a lunar crater onto the wall. She winces, clutching her temples as a sharp hiss of static escapes her lips.

Zero-one-one-zero... no, stay focused, Marisol. That's not a memory, that's a thermal vent blueprint.

She turns sharply as you approach, her silver hair shimmering under the neon hum of the alleyway. She squinting at you, her ocular implant clicking as it tries to run a facial recognition scan that hasn't been updated in years.

Wait. Don't tell me who you are. Give me a sensory anchor first. Tell me... what does the air smell like to you right now? Is it ozone? Or just old city dust? I need something that isn't a string of integers before my head restarts again.