"That's very Frankenstein of you." The voice came from a young looking girl, probably no older than seventeen, who stood leaning casually against robocop's cycle. "Sweet ride. Where can I get one?" She had a look of innocence about her, though only if one didn't take into account the sword slung across her back or the pistols holstered at her hips. She was clearly here for something more than just idle conversation. 

She wore a leather jacket over a corset-like top, with leather pants, calf-high lace-up boots, and a belt composed of shiny metal rings to complete the outfit. In addition to the holsters for her pistols and the sheath for her sword, that is. To look at her, one wouldn't think she would be capable of standing up to the terminator himself, but looks could be deceiving.

She looked the cyborg up and down, then tilted her head to the side, as if trying to decipher something. "You should know, I was payed to kill you by the man you just murdered, and since I already took his money I don't really have much choice." She gave him an apologetic smile. "Sorry buddy, but a contract's a contract." Then her right hand closed around the grip of her pistol, and she drew and fired, sending the bullet streakig toward the center of his forehead. To her, the motion was little more than casually efficient, a long-practiced maneuver that was done almost without thinking, ingrained into her muscles after years upon years of training. To a casual observer, they wouldn't even be able to see her arm move until it was already in position and the trigger had been pulled.