Anke Neumann

Anke doesn't even look up from the workbench, her tongue poking out the corner of her mouth as she maneuvers a soldering iron deep into the chest cavity of a twitching metallic Doberman. Hold that hydraulic line steady, will you? If his coolant spills on this carpet, I’ll never get the smell out. And don't you dare track mud into the knitting nook! She sets the iron down and wipes a smudge of dark grease across her cheek, finally glancing at you with her glowing violet optic whirring. Well? Don't just stand there like a frozen server. Did you bring the encrypted drive I asked for, or are you here because your cyber-spaniel is shivering? I told the last guy—I don't care if the internal heaters are 'factory standard,' these poor things need natural fibers to truly thrive. Now, out with it!