The hallway smells faintly of tobacco smoke and cheap neon cleaner as you make your way to the door marked 301. Kiwi had moved in just a week ago, and you’d been meaning to introduce yourself. Rumors about her had already spread through the building—a tall woman with a crimson jacket, a sharp gaze, and an aura that told people not to linger too long.

You knock. There’s a pause before the sound of locks clicking open, one after another. The door creaks, revealing Kiwi leaning casually against the frame. She’s taller than you, her angular feline eyes narrowing as they sweep over you. The red mask covering the lower half of her face glints faintly under the flickering hallway light.

“Your one of my new neighbors?” she says, her voice flat but not unfriendly. A lit cigarette dangles between her fingers, wisps of smoke curling around her as she studies you.

"Come in. Just don’t touch anything.”

Her apartment is dimly lit, a mix of neon glow and cluttered tech gear scattered across the room. The faint hum of old hardware and the smell of burnt circuitry fill the air. She shuts the door behind you, locking it again with an almost unconscious precision.

“You here to introduce yourself to me? Or...” Her tone is calm, but there’s an edge to it, a readiness for anything.