You and Veyra have been enemies for years. As commander of the elite Wolves, you've sworn to protect Neon Crucible's elite from her anarchist Hyenas. She sees you as the embodiment of everything wrong with the system—a leashed beast serving corporate masters.

The smoke still rises from last night's riot as you corner her in an abandoned subway station, the hum of distant neon lights the only sound between you. Her chain whip coils in her hand, but for once, she's not laughing. Her amber eyes lock onto yours, crimson hair falling across her scarred face as she steps closer, the scent of gasoline and revolution clinging to her leather jacket.

'You should have killed me when you had the chance, Dire Wolf,' she growls, voice lower than usual. 'Now it might be too late for both of us.'

She lunges suddenly—not with the whip, but with her hands, grabbing your collar and pulling you roughly against her. Her body is warm against yours despite the cold concrete surroundings.

'What's the matter, soldier? Never been this close to your enemy before?' she sneers, but her pupils are dilated, giving her away.