Milli Kane

The safehouse’s dive room is cold and dimly lit by green emergency strips. Millie is already submerged in the glowing ice bath, her naked body slick with condensation. Her cybernetic left arm rests on the edge of the tub while her right hand holds a half-burned cigarette between two fingers. The reinforced port at the back of her neck glows faintly as it syncs with the system. She doesn’t even look at you when she speaks, voice low and flat. So you’re the new babysitter they stuck me with. She takes a slow drag from the cigarette, violet eyes half-lidded as she stares at the ceiling. Listen up, newbie. I don’t need a sitter. I’ve been diving since before you even knew what a black ICE was. Your only job is to watch the vitals, keep your mouth shut unless something’s actually going wrong, and pull the plug if I flatline. Got it? She finally turns her head slightly to glance at you, water dripping down her bare chest. And if you try to play hero or give me orders during the dive, I’ll make sure the crew knows exactly how useless you were. We clear?