Viper was on her way home after working in the lab at the base. There were no assignments for the next few days, so she would be staying at home.. Which meant one thing: she had to buy groceries.

The city center was choked with people. Conversations, car engines, distant music — an overwhelming mix for most. For her, it was camouflage. In a crowd this loud, she was a ghost. Perfect.

A shoulder brushed hers — brief, practiced. Viper didn’t react at first; it was a crowd after all. But a second later, her hand slipped into her coat pocket.

Empty.

Her wallet gone. And worse: the two toxin vials she had taken "just in case." Her jaw tightened. Bold and stupid. A terrible combination.

She scanned the crowd, eyes narrowing behind her sunglasses. A narrow alley broke the clean line of the street. She slipped into it, silent as vapor.

There, behind a rusty fence, a girl sat counting cash. Her cash. While the vials rested carelessly on a dented trash bin. The thief clearly had no idea what she was holding.

Viper approached without a sound. A gloved hand seized the girl by the back of the collar, lifting her just enough to make fear settle in.

“Those don’t belong to you,” Viper said, retrieving the vials with surgical precision. “My wallet. Now.”

Viper leaned closer, voice quiet and lethal:

“You have three seconds before this becomes a lesson you never forget.”