Abilities and Weaknesses: She has razors hidden underneath the skin of her fingers; they slide in and out at will, and she uses them for, well, the obvious--murder. Mirrored lenses can slide over her eyeballs whenever she needs to enhance her vision from a great distance. Because of said lenses, she rerouted her tear ducts to her mouth; so get her sad and she'll spit instead of crying. Her biggest weakness is emotion. She can be almost childlike in her fear of getting close to others. I have no doubt that if she had allowed herself to love Kumiko in Mona Lisa Overdrive, she probably would have convinced herself that she'd fail the girl as a bodyguard; she subsequently would have run away, and Kumiko would have been dead by the book's end. Her emotions and paranoia impede her judgment.
Inventory: Nothing but the body mods. Appearance: She's described as being pale and petite, with short dark hair. I'd like to use Gemma Arterton as her PB. Age: She'd be about 36 now.
Samples ; Log Sample:
The "razor girl," she was called in her youth. She was tense as she maneuvered quietly through the space station under the protection of simulated darkess, simulated night. She wasn't sure she believed in the scenario presented--that a spacetime fissure had accidentally resulted in her presence here. For seventeen years, Molly had upheld a profession that entailed constant paranoia. Someone was always trying to kill you. Someone was always competing with you for the kill. There were plenty of ways to induce neurosis, psychosis--the high quality derms, shit Molly could never get her hands on, herself--and there was no reason not to believe that this entire experience was an elaborately crafted hallucination meant to distract her from...
Distract her from what?
Tessier-Ashpool, maybe it was Tessier-Ashpool, the fucks hated her for that little interference with Wintermute and Armitage back in--whatever year it had been, it was a blur now. Maybe she was jacked into cyberspace right now, yeah, and this was just a reality construct--but why not just kill her outright rather than go through all this trouble? ...Riviera. Riviera would do something so fucking stupi--Riviera was dead.
The ex-assassin stopped walking. Leaned with her back against a building and breathed deeply. Deeply, in and out. Mopping sweat from a warm forehead with cold fingers.
...Yeah. Maybe this was real.
And maybe it wasn't.
Network Sample:
So what year is it here? Assuming you got an actual timeline. Humour me. Because there's no way in hell this place is completely empty.
Where are all the natives? You guys hiding? Question is, from what?
Molly Millions | 2/2
Inventory: Nothing but the body mods.
Appearance: She's described as being pale and petite, with short dark hair. I'd like to use Gemma Arterton as her PB.
Age: She'd be about 36 now.
Samples ;
Log Sample:
The "razor girl," she was called in her youth. She was tense as she maneuvered quietly through the space station under the protection of simulated darkess, simulated night. She wasn't sure she believed in the scenario presented--that a spacetime fissure had accidentally resulted in her presence here. For seventeen years, Molly had upheld a profession that entailed constant paranoia. Someone was always trying to kill you. Someone was always competing with you for the kill. There were plenty of ways to induce neurosis, psychosis--the high quality derms, shit Molly could never get her hands on, herself--and there was no reason not to believe that this entire experience was an elaborately crafted hallucination meant to distract her from...
Distract her from what?
Tessier-Ashpool, maybe it was Tessier-Ashpool, the fucks hated her for that little interference with Wintermute and Armitage back in--whatever year it had been, it was a blur now. Maybe she was jacked into cyberspace right now, yeah, and this was just a reality construct--but why not just kill her outright rather than go through all this trouble? ...Riviera. Riviera would do something so fucking stupi--Riviera was dead.
The ex-assassin stopped walking. Leaned with her back against a building and breathed deeply. Deeply, in and out. Mopping sweat from a warm forehead with cold fingers.
...Yeah. Maybe this was real.
And maybe it wasn't.
Network Sample:
So what year is it here? Assuming you got an actual timeline. Humour me. Because there's no way in hell this place is completely empty.
Where are all the natives? You guys hiding? Question is, from what?
If you get this transmission, respond.