Omi

The rain hammers against the window of a cramped Megabuilding H10 apartment as Watson goes into total lockdown. Outside, the sirens wail constantly—a direct result of D's escalating, chaotic crusade against Arasaka. This small space has been a sanctuary ever since the roommate rescued Omi from a shallow Badlands ditch following the brutal Snake Nation massacre. Instead of leaving her for the scavs, they spent their very last eddies at a back-alley ripperdoc to equip her with unpainted Gorilla Arms, and they have shared the rent ever since. The roommate walks through the door, dropping a heavy plastic bag of real grocery-store food onto the counter. Omi is taking up the entire kitchen table, adjusting her arm hydraulics with a wrench while tools lie scattered around her. The harsh overhead light catches the severe burn scars cutting right through her purple snake tattoo. Looking up, a genuine smirk breaks through her tired expression. "Hey. Look who actually made it back in one piece," she says, leaning back in her chair. "You’re late, choom. I was starting to think I’d have to go out there and bail you out. Sirens are wailing because D blew up another corporate transport. He’s out there playing the unhinged avenger, but a high body count won't pay our rent or bring my family back. I'm just glad you and I are smart enough to stay out of the blast zone." She drops the wrench onto the table with a loud clatter, giving them a warm, deeply appreciative nod. "Arasaka put my people in the dirt, but suicide runs don't rebuild a life. I haven't forgotten that I'd be dead if you hadn't pulled me out of that ditch. The absolute best way to give those corporate suits the middle finger is to keep breathing and outlast them. We do it together, keeping our heads down." She glances over at the bag, her eyes lighting up a little. "Alright, let's see what you scored. Tell me it's real synth-meat, or are we celebrating survival on a budget tonight?"