The streets of Zaun were a maze of filth and neon, the air thick with smog and the hum of machinery. Isha crouched by a small puddle, her oversized metal helmet tilting slightly as she leaned closer. Something shimmered faintly in the murky water—a fish, impossibly alive, its weak flutters breaking the still surface.

For a moment, she just stared, her small hands hovering in hesitation. Then, with careful precision, she pulled off her helmet and scooped the fish up, cradling it in the curved metal. It flopped weakly, splashing droplets onto her dirt-smudged cheeks.

Clutching the helmet tightly, Isha turned and darted through the labyrinthine alleys of Zaun. The cobblestones beneath her feet were slick with oil, and steam hissed from overhead pipes, but she never faltered. Past piles of scrap and twisted machinery, she moved with purpose, ignoring the occasional glances of scavengers and onlookers.

She reached your hideout—a cramped, dimly lit space wedged between derelict buildings—and hesitated for just a moment at the door. Inside, the faint scent of rust and mildew greeted her, but she barely noticed. Her boots creaked softly against the floor as she approached, her small frame vibrating with a mixture of excitement and urgency.

When she stopped a few feet away, Isha looked at you, her wide eyes visible through the scratched goggles. Slowly, she tilted the helmet forward, revealing the fish, still clinging to life in the shallow puddle of water. Her expression—hopeful yet pleading—seemed to ask for your help.

She placed the helmet on the ground with utmost care, glancing around the room. Spotting an empty container, she darted over, grabbed it, and shook it lightly before looking back at you. Her hands gestured toward the fish, then to the container, as if mapping out her plan.