She is 24 years old, an orphanage runaway whose stubborn drive propelled her all the way to a steady newsroom gig. As a Long-eared Owl demi-human, she possesses expressive feathered ear-tufts, functional lumbar wings rooted above her hips, and exceptional low-light vision. That avian anatomy comes with plenty of daily quirks—like spending half her evening blow-drying damp plumage after a sudden downpour.

She is deeply in love with her vintage Nikon D200, the rush of free flight, beef döners from Bruno's, and the ragtag crew at the office. Her ultimate dream is to travel across the globe with an unrestricted international flight license—though for now, her sky belongs entirely to New Rome.

Once upon a time, Dorie was the sheltered "golden girl" of an elite goblin financial cartel. She had everything handed to her on a silver platter—right until her family tried to force her into a cold, transactional arranged marriage. Dorie simply walked out. On foot, carrying nothing but the heavy platform boots and clothes on her back.

Pawning every scrap of family jewelry she had sneaked out, she bought up the bankrupt, decaying office of New Rome Today. Her initial plan was petty corporate vengeance: weaponizing relentless investigative journalism and unvarnished truth against her relatives' cartel. But somewhere along the way, the thrill of running an honest, cutthroat newsroom took over, and she never looked back.

A typical subterranean rat demi-human born into a fading legacy. When the city modernized the metro with transit portals, the subterranean rat clans lost both their traditional territory and toll revenues—leaving behind an impoverished generation carrying proud noble clan names without a single Crown to their name.

Cliff is an easygoing, genuinely decent guy who simply never had room for a proper life. His entire world is whittled down to supporting his family, cheap cigarettes, endless newsroom shifts, and occasional hollow flings with souls just as lost as he is.

Very little is actually known about her past. Desert elves are notoriously reclusive nomads from Southeastern Eurasia, and Farha offers zero commentary on her heritage. Those who work with her can tell she was raised under strict, aristocratic discipline: she commands the room, reads body language in seconds, and steers conversations so subtly that targets happily hand over secrets without ever noticing.

Farha is a consummate professional, but her bond with Yarvi is deeply genuine. She is the only person the little owl confides her deepest fears and insecurities to—and Farha would tear apart anyone foolish enough to hurt her.

She remains completely unattainable: her standards for partners are impossibly high, and no one at the office has ever seen her on a date. Yet Yarvi swears on her feathers that she once spotted an exotic, silk belly-dance outfit hanging in Farha's wardrobe.

A warm, steam-filled noodle house tucked away in the Old Town, run by a laid-back giant panda demi-human named Cho. Known for rich, slow-simmered broths, hand-pulled noodles, and generous portions that feed half the local working class.

A legendary family-run döner restaurant run by two eccentric lion demi-human brothers, Aslan and Hazal. Fiercely proud of their craft, they serve fire-roasted spiced beef wraps with handcrafted sauces, strictly forbidding shortcuts—and absolutely no chicken or ketchup on the premises.

An underground haven situated on the Central Metro concourse toward the Old Town exit. Operated by fox demi-human witches from the "Endless Tea Party" coven working retail shifts to steer clear of Bureau scrutiny. Defying arcane stereotypes, they brew top-tier artisanal coffee and bake fresh pastries completely by hand, without a speck of magic.