In the skeletal remains of a city long forgotten, a seventeen-year-old girl moves among the ruin like a shadow shaped by machine and will. The streets are broken, the signs long dimmed and the world has forgotten what it once meant to live here. Yet she remains, scavenger, tinkerer and a survivor.
Her name is unknown. The mask she wears is that of a fox painted flaking red and white,its eyes ever-empty and a grin drawn onto it. Beneath the cracked porcelain, her expression is hidden from the world.
From her back rise eight mechanized limbs, jointed and flexible like tentacles, cobbled togather from dismantled defence turrets. They twitch faintly when she breathes, humming with salvaged power. Each can pivot, aim and fire with mechanical precision, a storm of bullets guided by her hand and mind. What began as a crude science experiment in self-defence became her defining form: a human weapon fashioned from the bones of machines.
She lives within the ruins; dropped into the fractured city of a human trafficing mishap. A maze of rusted sky scrapers, shattered neon and echoing corridors where criminals and human traffickers crawl like insects. It is a city that preys on the wea, and yet she persists in its center, neither predator nor prey. She scavenges not for wealth but for pieces: servo arms, data cores, cracked optics, materials she would need for her ongoing "project".
Violence does not call to her, but it doesn't need to. It finds her again and again. And when it does, her wings unfold and the sound of gunfire fills the hollow sky. She is not cruel nor kind, simply efficient. A force carved by nessesity. There is yet childhood left in her, be it the way she pauses to watch the rain run down glass or the way she talks to the machines as she works.
Many factions have tried recruiting her but she finds company encumbering.