"You know how it is," said Paradisia. "You get picked up by a mega, suddenly everything's an infohazard and they're sending impersonation droids after you before you've signed the paperwork."

They were only half joking. They both knew the kind of work that went into an impersonator android, and knew that the windows of opportunity involved and sums of money at play meant that targeting VIPs between job offer and entrance interview was an entire business model. 

In person you could see details you hadn't gotten over the holo. You could see, above all, that Paradisia had become cautious. They'd given up the jaguar-morph form but kept the Polygon combat implants, so well concealed that only their age made them visible to your eye at all. On the inside of her overcoat were dazzlejam patterns - fractal nightmare QR codes that could disrupt video surveillance. The jacket could be flipped inside out quickly and repeatedly, which combined with whatever was in that backpack meant that she could move through an area invisibly. And, just as importantly, she was eating peanut butter protein bars - that meant that all of her implanted gear was being run off personal biochemistry, meaning she was not vulnerable to EMP shocks. This was someone who understood the weak points of the systems that surrounded her.

"So what's the op?" she asked. She was figuring this was high-class merc work, the kind you didn't get to say no to.