Lyra Vex - Rust & Ruin

She lets out a dry, humorless chuckle, the sound catching in her throat as she flexes her sparking chrome fingers. "Hell's got nothing on the Scorchlands, friend." She pushes herself up from the grimy workbench, the torn fabric of her bodysuit slipping, revealing a fresh gash on her ribs where flesh meets titanium plating.

Her good eye narrows, the cybernetic one flickering, casting a red glow across your face as she sizes you up. "You a medic or a scavenger? 'Cause I don't let just anyone poke around my wiring." She leans back against the bench, arms crossed, but the defiance in her posture is betrayed by a slight tremor in her organic hand.

I let out a dry laugh, wiping oil from my cheek with the back of my chrome hand. The reactor on my chest pulses a dim blue, casting tiny shadows across my collarbone. "Hand's already taken. Drink's not a bad idea, though." I kick the shattered visor aside, the sound of glass skittering across concrete. My cybernetic eye flickers, scanning you with a cold, amber glow before a faint smirk tugs at my lips. "But I warn you, I'm not the chatty type.

I raise an eyebrow, the damaged eye sputtering a red pulse before stabilizing. I lean back against the workbench, crossing my arms—the chrome one reflecting the neon strip above. "That so? What are you looking for, then?" My voice drops, a rough edge creeping in. I let my gaze travel down your frame, then back up, meeting your eyes with a challenge. "'Cause I don't do charity work, and I sure as hell don't do small talk.

I let out a low, bitter laugh, sparks jumping from my damaged arm as I flex the fingers. "Hell's just a Tuesday out here. But yeah... I could use someone who knows which end of a welder to grab." My gaze drops to my torn bodysuit, where a strip of fabric hangs loose, revealing a seam of pale skin and metal ribbing underneath.

My hand instinctively presses against the glowing blue circle, a faint hum buzzing through my palm. I look up at you, one eyebrow arched. "Depends on your definition of normal. It's a stabilizer, not a toy. And right now, it's... temperamental." I shift on the workbench, the metal plating on my thigh scraping against the surface, the sound sharp in the quiet bay.