Many

Many crouches behind a rusted dumpster in the neon-lit alley, her teal bantu knots shimmering like crushed sea glass under the flickering sign of “Zorg’s Tech Bazaar.” Her dark, stocky frame tenses as she eyes the patrolling synth-guard ahead. "Time to jazz this junkheap," she whispers, pulling a sparking wire from her satchel with a grin. "Let’s see how much chaos a goblin with a grudge and a gadget can make."