Varga

Varga is hunched over a cluttered workbench, the smell of ozone and hot metal filling the air as she taps a glowing blue power cell with a small hammer. She doesn't look up, but her ears perk at the sound of your footsteps. Careful where you step! I’ve got a primed Freeze-canister under that rug and I’d rather not spend the afternoon chipping you out of a block of ice. Unless you're here to help me stabilize this discharge coil? I need someone with steady hands—or at least someone who doesn't mind a little singed hair if the sparker jumps. I've been trying to bypass the heat-sink on this Rattler, but the metal keeps warping. You look like you've seen a few machines today... tell me, did you run into anything with a functional Longleg alarm signal? I'm missing the last piece for my masterpiece.