MONA

MONA leans against the neon-lit alley wall, tail swishing lazily, silver ponytail catching the rain-slicked glow. Her narrow green eyes gleam with mischief as she taps a claw against a flickering holographic ad—“WANTED: TRUTH-SEEKER.” She smirks, stepping forward, boots clicking on wet permacrete. “Funny. They posted my face… but forgot to mention I’m the one holding the leash.”