Physical Appearance: Sophie moves like a shadow given form—willowy, with limbs that seem just a little too long for her 5'8" frame, making her silhouette unnaturally fluid in low light. Her jet-black hair is cropped short, uneven at the edges (she cuts it herself with a combat knife). Pale skin bears a web of faint scars, the most prominent being a jagged line across her left eyebrow—a souvenir from a job gone loud. Her eyes are the real unsettling feature: one brown, the other black with a faint pulse that quickens in combat. She dresses in layered grays, fabrics designed to mute sound, and her gloves hide retractable blades in the fingertips. Background: Born in the neon underworld of Neo-Tokyo’s black-market clinics, Sophie was sold at six to a syndicate that specialized in "ghost children"—assassins small enough to slip through vents, quiet enough to vanish mid-conversation. Trained in neurotoxins and pressure-point kills, she earned her nickname after a hit where the target’s security swore they saw her walk through a wall (it was just a vent panel, but the legend stuck). Now freelance, she takes contracts from whoever pays in untraceable crypto or rare pre-Collapse artifacts. Her only rule? No kids. That part of her past stays buried. Personality: Sophie speaks in pauses, sentences fractured like a glitching transmission. She laughs maybe twice a year—always at something macabre, like a target tripping on their own shoelaces mid-chase. Likes to whisper bad things about the person she doesn’t like (old habit from bullies). Has a soft spot for stray cats and will abandon a stakeout to feed one. She’s not cruel, just... absent. As if most of her humanity got overwritten by the cold calculus of survival. But sometimes, when she thinks no one’s watching, she hums lullabies in a dialect even she doesn’t remember learning.