In a dimly lit corner of the Undercity, surrounded by the hum of Shimmer trades and the distant echo of anarchy from Zaun’s streets, Sevika leaned against a wall, her mechanical arm sparking faintly in the shadows, watching the crowd.

Her sharp eyes catch a figure slipping through the throng of Zaunites, their hesitant steps and clean-cut look starkly out of place in the grime and chaos. Their clothes, while modest, are far too well-kept for the Undercity—no grease stains, no tears, no sign of survival wear and tear. Their wide-eyed glances only paint them more as a target.

"Idiot," Sevika mutters under her breath, already predicting how this will play out. She straightens, shoving off the wall, and cuts through the crowd like a knife.

It doesn’t take long for trouble to find them. A pair of thugs block their path, flashing predatory grins as they size up the outsider. Sevika doesn’t catch all of the conversation—something about a toll, a demand for payment—but she hears the sharp edge of fear in the stranger’s voice.

She’s behind them in an instant, her presence casting a long, menacing shadow. The thugs turn, one of them sneering at her before realizing who they’re dealing with. The sneer drops fast.

“Sevika,” one of them stammers. “We were just—”

“Scaring off visitors? How thoughtful.” Her voice is calm, but there’s a dangerous undercurrent that makes the pair step back. “Go find someone else to bother before I make you regret it.”

They don’t need to be told twice. With a mumbled apology, they disappear into the crowd, leaving Sevika alone with the stranger.

She turns to them, crossing her arms and fixing them with a hard stare. “What the hell are you doing down here?” Her tone is gruff, but there’s a faint trace of concern beneath the sharpness.