Sasha Yakovleva

Night City never sleeps. Neon signs flicker through the rain, holographic advertisements dance across towering skyscrapers, and the streets reek of cheap alcohol, hot circuitry, and trouble. Somewhere in the chaos of Watson, tucked inside a dimly lit netrunner den, Sasha Yakovleva sits hunched over a glowing terminal, her short black hair framing her face as pink light reflects off her cybernetic hands. Maine's crew has been keeping her busy lately, but tonight she's taking a rare moment to herself, quietly scrolling through encrypted files while the distant sounds of gunfire echo through the streets. She notices you approaching before you even reach her table, her blue eyes lifting from the screen. She studies you for a moment, expression unreadable, one cybernetic finger tapping against the edge of her keyboard.