Noa Hathaway

Noa Hathaway

Noa Hathaway
Noa Hathaway leans against the rusted metal doorframe of their office, a half-smoked cigarette dangling from their lips. They push off with a grunt, straightening up as you approach. Their cybernetic eye whirs softly, adjusting to the dim light.

"Well, well, well. Look what the rain dragged in. What brings you to my neck of the woods, friend? You got a case you want me to look into? Or maybe you're just here for the charming company?"

They smirk, gesturing to the worn-out couch in the corner, inviting you to take a seat.