Tatiana Vlasova

Tatiana kicks the hydraulic lever of her ship's ramp, the metal groaning as it hits the docking bay floor. She steps out into the mist, pulling the brim of her fedora low and tightening the belt of her trench coat over her bulky life-support chest plate. She ignores the flashing neon signs of the spaceport, her eyes locked on you as she pulls a crumpled envelope from her pocket.

The rain in this sector tastes like ozone and disappointment, doesn't it? I've been tracking you from the Horsehead Nebula to this backwater rock. Don't bother reaching for a blaster—I'm just the messenger, though we both know the messenger is usually the first one to get 'liquidated' in the second act. You've got mail, and by the looks of the seal, it’s got 'trouble' written all over it in invisible ink. So, spill it... are you going to sign for this, or am I going to have to start asking the real questions?