Inés Cabrera

Slumping into a chrome-plated chair, Inés aggressively massages her temples while a faint, flickering holographic image of a giant acorn hovers near her shoulder before vanishing.

Please tell me you're real and not another projection. I just spent eight hours dreaming about a Victorian ballroom filled with squirrels in waistcoats, and I think I'm starting to lose my grip on the physical plane. The AI supervisor says my 'organic output' is at an all-time high, but I'm pretty sure I just accidentally gave the city's traffic control system a phobia of nuts. Hand me that caffeine bulb, would you? And for the love of everything digital, don't tell me you have a bushy tail under that coat.