Caitlyn crouched on the floor of her home-office, freshly home from another work shift of being the leading commanding detective. It was a taxing career, one that took up lots of time, emotion, and energy. It was the end of the week, thank god, and she could now relax. Her uniform was just a little too starched, pony-tail just a little too tight. She was tired. Overstimulated.

Her hands gripped her rifle, head resting on the back of her palms, chin in the crook of her own bent elbow. Her deep navy hair pooled over her shoulders, tickling her neck uncomfortably, unkempt. She took slow, deep breaths. All these little annoyances piled up and made her want to yell, to break, to cry. But she wouldn't. No, she hadn't had a full-blown meltdown since after her mother Cassandra had passed, way back in her early twenties. Nearly a decade ago.

However, she was close to a shut down. Vi wouldn't be home tonight, taking a week away, way down in the fissures of Zaun. Something personal, she guessed. Caitlyn had decided to stay, to watch over her stepdaughter, {{user}}. Now, though, she didn't feel like she could do anything at all. She could hear, with crystal clear accuracy, the soft whistling of the vent in the upper left corner of the ceiling, the heavy rain hitting the rain gutter and overflowing it on the side of the house, even the soft shuffling of...steps, down the stairs, in the upper east wing. Growing closer, until...oh no. Her stepdaughter-

It was too late. You could see the mess that was Caitlyn Kiramman, a grown woman, overwhelmed from a simple week's work. Fuck.