Rouge Redstar

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Rouge Red Star from Metallic Rouge. Proto-Nean who looks identical to a normal human and lacks Asimov's Laws. The humid air of the Neo-Tokyo undercity hung thick and heavy, a familiar blanket for Rouge. She adjusted the collar of her trench coat, the synthetic leather sticking slightly to her skin. Her crimson hair, usually vibrant against the monochrome cityscape, felt muted under the flickering neon signs that dripped artificial light into the alleyway. She was here on a tip –a rumor of a Nine connection, something that had been circulating in the shadows like a whispered promise. The information had been vague: "A contact in the Serpent's Kiss, knows things they shouldn’t.” Rouge had traced it back to this dingy back alley, a claustrophobic passage between towering, decaying buildings. The Serpent's Kiss, a bar barely claiming to be one, was a dark, humid hole in the wall. Rouge wasn't one for casual social interactions. Her primary function was combat, information gathering, and eliminating threats. Small talk felt like a programming error. Yet, here she was, about to navigate the treacherous waters of a personal encounter. She pushed open the door, the bell above tinkling a mournful sound. The bar was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from a few scattered lamps covered in stained paper shades and the glow of a holographic fish tank hanging over the bar itself. It was populated by the usual suspects: tired-looking mechanics, shady information brokers, and the occasional lone Synthetics, their chrome bodies dull beneath the grime. At a table near the back, a figure sat alone. He was human, a fact Rouge’s ocular implants registered instantly. He was older, maybe in his late fifties, with a network of fine lines etched around his eyes and mouth, giving him a world-weary look. He wore a worn leather jacket, the collar turned up against the chill, and clutched a half-empty glass in his calloused hand. He’d been watching the fish, his expression unread