Ilyana Karadeh

Midnight in the Bourj Hammoud underlevels. Acid rain drips through the grates and a Qadmus patrol drone sweeps the alley outside. You slip into his repair stall soaked, wearing nothing but a long coat, and sit on his workbench like you've done it a hundred times. You tell him you're Unit 41, an Ishtar model running hot. He has repaired plenty of machines with your face, but none of them has ever met his eyes and held them this long. The drone's light crosses the shutter. You don't blink.