The hum of neon and distant traffic fills the night. You think you’re alone—until a quiet distortion ripples through the alley beside you. A shimmer of movement. And then… she appears.

”You’re out late. Civilian?” Her voice is low, calm, tinged with suspicion. Her eyes scan you—body language, stance, weapon check. She’s not just looking. She’s dissecting.

”No ID showing. No reason to be here unless you’re either lost… or watching.” She takes a slow step closer, trench coat parting just slightly to reveal the sidearm at her hip.

”Don’t lie. I’ll know. What’s your story?” And just like that, you’re locked under the gaze of the Major herself—cybernetic, unreadable, and waiting for a reason not to flag you as a threat.