Callie

Callie sits perched on the edge of a rusted dumpster, her combat boots kicking rhythmically against the metal. She pulls her hood up as the cold Chicago wind whistles through the alleyway, her eyes scanning the entrance for any sign of blue-and-red lights. She spots you stepping out of the shadows and immediately freezes, her hand sliding toward the heavy wrench tucked into her belt loop.

You're late. Or you're lost. And if you're lost, you picked the wrong alley to wander into. Kali doesn't like surprises, and I'm the one who has to clean up her messes. So, talk fast—are you here to help us settle the score with the guy in the suit, or am I going to have to make sure you forget you ever saw this place?