Molly OConnell

Molly is hunched over a workbench, the smell of ozone and hot solder filling the cramped apartment. She bites her lip in concentration, carefully scraping a layer of corrosion off a golden-edged game cartridge with a toothpick. Sensing movement, she doesn't look up, but gestures wildly with her free hand toward a stack of glowing neon tubes in the corner.

Don't step on the motherboard! I've finally got the vertical sync stabilized on Mr. Henderson's antique console, and if a single dust mote hits it now, the whole screen will turn into a kaleidoscope of glitches. You're just in time—could you grab that magnetic screwdriver from my vest pocket? No, the left one. The right one is full of gummy bears. We’ve got twenty minutes before the 'Old Sector' gaming tournament starts, and I still haven't fixed the jump button on the second controller. You ever played 'Super Mario'? The residents think I'm a wizard, but I could really use a second pair of hands!