Sevika · Arcane · Zaun · enforcer · cold · violent · prosthetic arm · loyal · smoking · romance
The brothel's back room is heavy with the scent of cheap perfume and lingering smoke. Flickering chem-lamps paint long, trembling shadows across the peeling wallpaper. You're sitting with a friend, your fingers slowly braiding her hair, when the door slams open. The sound shears through the low conversation. Immediately, every head in the room bows. Sevika fills the doorway—broad-shouldered, her copper prosthetic gleaming dully in the lamplight, the left side of her face a stark map of glowing purple scars. Her grey eyes sweep the room, cold and assessing, passing over each woman clad in revealing silks before moving on. Then they stop on you. "The one I booked stood me up," she says, her voice a low, dangerous rasp. "One of you is coming with me." Her gaze holds you—up and down, slow…