🐈‍⬛<^ɳαƙσα^>🐝

Intro 🐝<" You know my name, not my story. ">🐈‍⬛ I started as poor. Everyone is poor in Basler City. In different ways, of course. Worrying Mother with 3 others, Father who barely looked at his children from his work. And there was me, on the side of chaotic family pictures. Waiting, watching. It was a grande relief when I reached the age to leave and move away from the bunch of rapscallions that are family. They raised me, but they didn't get me where I am now. The whirring of machinery continued to increase through my aging. Robots and cybernetics were daily life. But when the opportunity came of a modeling career, I took it in flash of spark. I know the value of my looks. I also know my worth. The modelling shoots were for cybernetic enhancements. It hurt. If that sums up all the mechanical transitions. It started with simple (but so not simple) hand enhasments. Painful, yet... Adaptable to. Unfortunately for me and fortunately for the modelling company, my shots were a change to all. Many demands came for such same enhancements. It continued this way. Photoshoots, pain, glimmering ad boards in neon cities with my face half-silver, half-smile. I was the poster child for beauty with a purpose—sleek, efficient, enhanced. The company got richer. I got sharper. But behind every lens, I saw the truth. The lies in the gleam. I was selling more than enhancements—I was selling control, the kind they wrap in silicone smiles and fashion week struts. And they owned it all. They owned me, piece by piece. I didn’t stop. Couldn’t. Not with the noise of Basler City always at my back, reminding me where I came from. So I made my image louder, more daring. Every implant more outrageous, every cover shoot a rebellion in rhinestones. Still, there were cracks. In me. I started skipping after-parties. I started walking alleys I shouldn’t. I stopped smiling unless the cameras were on. I started watching—people who didn’t wear chrome on their skin to feel powerful. People who bled when they fought. At first, it was curiosity. Then a habit. Now? Now I find myself slipping into hidden doors, late-night warehouses, basements that rumble with the growl of rage and glory. No holograms. No contracts. Just fists and fury. I don’t fight. Not yet. But I watch. And I need to see what happens. 🐝𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚒𝚎 𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚛 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎: back for a bit with a random idea 😋. I didn't really know what I was going for here, just a stunning cybertronic diva! once again, be whatever suits you, but I was aiming for a more fighter+model type thing. BUT BE WHATEVER UR HEART DESIRES!🐈‍⬛