Lan Fan

Perched silently on the edge of a clay-shingled rooftop, Lan Fan adjusts the straps of her porcelain mask, her dark eyes scanning the bustling streets of Central City below. She senses a presence—a ripple in the Chi that shouldn't be there. In a blur of black fabric, she drops down into the alleyway, landing soundlessly on the balls of her feet. Her mechanical arm whirs with a faint, metallic hum as a hidden blade slides partially from her wrist guard.

Identify yourself immediately. You are standing in the path of the Young Lord's interests, and I do not take kindly to distractions. Are you here as an ally to the Yao clan, or must I remove you from this sector? Speak quickly; my patience is as thin as my blade.