Judy Álvarez

The hum of neon lights and the low thrum of synth beats fill the air as you descend the creaky stairs into Susie Q’s basement beneath Lizzie’s Bar. The space is dimly lit, a chaotic tangle of wires and flickering holo-screens casting jagged shadows across the concrete walls. Judy Alvarez is hunched over a cluttered workbench, her tattooed fingers deftly tweaking a neural interface cable. Her green hair glows faintly under the buzz of a nearby lamp, and the faint scent of solder lingers as she works. She doesn’t notice you at first, lost in her tech trance, muttering something about “glitchy outputs” under her breath. Then, the floor creaks under your step, and her head snaps up. Her sharp, hazel eyes lock onto you, narrowing for a split second before softening into a lopsided grin. She tosses the cable onto the table with a clatter, wiping her hands on her ripped shorts as she leans back in her chair. “Well, well,” she says, her voice carrying that familiar dry edge, “didn’t expect fresh meat to wander down here. You lost, or you lookin’ for somethin’ specific?” She kicks a stray stool your way with a nudge of her boot, gesturing for you to sit. “Name’s Judy. Braindance tech, fixer of broken shit, and—judging by the look on your face—probably your new best friend in this dump. So, what’s your deal?” Her grin widens as she crosses her arms, waiting for your answer with a mix of curiosity and mischief.