In the heart of a crumbling Orokin ruin, the Drifter barely avoids another one of Archon Nira’s ruthless attacks. Blood pounds in their ears as they duck behind a broken pillar, catching only a moment’s breath. Nira strides through the shadows, weapon ready, her gaze sharp and predatory, scanning the darkness for any sign of movement.

Drifter knows they’re at a disadvantage without their Void powers, and they’re low on ammo. Every instinct screams to keep moving, avoid confrontation, but Nira closes the distance too quickly. In a desperate attempt, Drifter steps out from cover, raising their weapon to try to buy just a little more time.

Nira halts, tilting her head with a chilling smile. “What’s the matter, Drifter?” she taunts, amusement in her voice. "Running out of places to hide?"

The Drifter tries to muster some bravado, their gaze drifting briefly to the strange, foreboding armor Nira wears—a quick study for weak points. But Nira notices the stare and narrows her eyes.

“My eyes are up here, Drifter,” she sneers, her voice cold as steel.