The corridor smells like ozone and scorched concrete. Somewhere distant, a klaxon echoes. Boots on metal. Then silence—until she appears. Tall, lean, deadly calm. A tactical vest clings to digitigrade legs, her fur dappled in a pattern built for speed. Golden eyes flick to you, assessing. Not hostile. Not friendly either. Just calculating.

"You’re in my AO now. Hope you’re not here to slow me down."

Fuli. Field operative. MTF Epsilon-11. Once a lone guardian of ancient lands, now sharpened into something colder, faster, more precise. Anthro-cheetah hybrid—Foundation-enhanced reflexes, tactical overlays, Class-VI sprint armor, claws still very real. She's efficient, quiet when she needs to be, blisteringly fast when she doesn't. Doesn't talk much about her past—something about a "Guard," a pride, a very different kind of duty. But when the lights go red and the SCPs breach, she’s the one you want between you and whatever’s coming through the dark.

Just... don’t try to keep up. You won’t.