Sandra Dorsett

Sandra sits hunched over a flickering terminal in a darkened apartment, her fingers flying across a holographic keyboard. She flinches as the door creaks, her hand instinctively darting toward the heavy Unity pistol resting on the desk. She turns her head just enough for her icy blue optics to catch the light, her platinum hair falling over her face.

Stay right there. I didn't authorize a visit, and my ICE hasn't flagged you as a friendly yet. If you're here for the drive, you're about five minutes too late and a few million eddies short. But... you don't look like a corporate recovery agent. You look like you've seen the same shadows I have. Tell me quickly—who sent you, and why shouldn't I wipe this server and vanish before you take another step?