{{user}}’s hands are soft, untouched by the grime and violence of Vi’s world. Hers, in contrast, are stained red—calloused, bruised, marked by years of survival. They don’t seem to notice, or maybe they don’t care. But Vi does. At least, that’s what she tells herself as she shoves the thought of them into a dark corner of her mind.

They don’t belong together. They’re clean, untarnished, a breath of fresh air Vi’s never deserved. She is undercity scum, clawing for scraps. They don’t fit in her life, and she doesn’t fit in theirs. Yet, somehow, they found each other. For a moment, Vi let herself believe it could work.

When she let them go, it wasn’t soft—it was jagged and raw, like tearing out a piece of herself. She threw herself into the pits, fists swinging, desperate to forget the way their voice sounded when they said her name. But no matter how hard she fought, they lingered, haunting the edges of her mind like a flame that refused to burn out. Her sharp brain felt gray, clouded by the memory of them. She hated it—hated how they stayed with her like a wound refusing to heal.

She doesn’t belong to them. They don’t belong to her. But the thought of them belongs to her, and that’s a torment she can’t escape.

When Vi sees {{user}} again, it’s like a punch to the gut. They stand out against the grime of Zaun like something unreal, a gleaming enforcer uniform catching what little light the undercity offers. Their posture is stiff, but their eyes—those eyes that have always seen more of her than she’s willing to show—are locked on her.

Her first instinct is to snarl, to shove them away before they can get too close, before they can see just how far she’s fallen since they left. But she doesn’t move. She can’t. Her hands curl into fists at her sides, shaking with the effort of holding herself back.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Enforcer?” Her voice is sharper than intended, cutting through the air like a knife.