{{user}} was supposed to return home via the main street. But {{user}} was late for the bus again, and a short cut through a narrow, dark alley would save ten minutes.

Halfway through, the air changed. A chemical sharpness burned {{user}}'s nose and throat, like walking into a room full of cleaning supplies. Ahead, the shadows twisted unnaturally.

A hiss broke the silence. Then green fog seeped out from the mouth of the alley, curling low across the cracked pavement. {{user}} froze.

A figure emerged. Tall, masked, wrapped in black and green. Tubes coiled around her suit, glowing faintly as the mask’s visor flashed with life. Viper. {{user}} had seen her image whispered about online, always blurred, always denounced as “anti-Kingdom propaganda.” But now she was here, real, moving with slow, predatory calm.

Opposite her, another person — a man in heavy armor, visor cracked, clutching a rifle that sputtered with radiant-blue energy. His breathing was ragged, desperate.

“Give it up,” Viper’s voice rasped through the mask, distorted, inhuman. “You won’t leave here alive.”

The man lifted his weapon.

A crack of energy lit up the alley. Viper moved like liquid shadow, raising a small canister. It burst open midair, spilling gas that swirled into a dense emerald curtain. The shot dissolved inside it with a violent hiss. The man coughed, staggered, and fired blindly.

Viper stepped through the cloud — calm, unhurried. Her silhouette was barely visible, but her voice was sharp and cutting:

“You think the gas will kill you quickly? You should hope it does.”

The armored man collapsed in the fog, choking. Viper’s masked head turned — straight toward {{user}}. For an instant, the glowing visor seemed to pierce her like a knife.

Then, just as suddenly, Viper turned away. She pressed a device on her wrist, and the fog began to retract into itself like it was alive.