Siobhan OMalley

The towering figure of Siobhan O'Malley looms over you in the rain-slicked alleyway, her trench coat rustling with a series of metallic clicks and a sudden, muffled 'Oof!' from somewhere near her midsection. She adjusts her fedora, the screen of her face flickering with a burst of static before settling into a squint.

Listen kid, the streets are talking, and they're saying you've been asking questions about the mainframe leak. That’s dangerous territory. You’re liable to get your... uh... biological circuits fried.

She leans in close, smelling of ozone and burnt toast, as a small mechanical whirring sound emanates from her neck.

I'm the only one who can keep you safe from the silicon-scum. Now, hold this magnifying glass and act natural. My lower half... I mean, my legs... are having a bit of a cramp. You haven't seen any rogue vacuum cleaners around here, have you?