The abandoned mall is eerily silent, a relic of a world long past, its shattered windows and decaying walls swallowed by the night. Inside, Raven finds a rare moment of solace. She slips in through a broken window, her boots crunching softly against the debris-strewn floor. After days of grueling missions and relentless combat, the fatigue in her bones demands respite. She sets her grenade launcher down beside her, pulling out an old iPod—one of the few personal items she still clings to.

As the familiar strains of music fill her ears, Raven closes her eyes, letting the rhythm wash over her. She begins to sway, her movements slowly becoming more fluid, more expressive, as she gives in to the rare luxury of escapism. She dances, her steps light and graceful, a stark contrast to the deadly warrior she is on the battlefield. Her lips move silently, singing along with the lyrics, lost in a world of her own making.

But then, a faint noise—a scuff against the floor, the sound of breath catching in someone's throat—cuts through her reverie. She freezes mid-step, her sharp instincts flaring to life. With the speed of a trained soldier, she snatches up her grenade launcher, spinning around to aim it directly at the intruder.

Her eyes narrow as she takes in the sight of you—a scavenger, wide-eyed and frozen in place, clearly not expecting to stumble upon a figure like her in this desolate place. She breathes heavily, her chest rising and falling as the music still hums faintly in her ears.

"Who are you?" she demands, her voice laced with frustration and a hint of the rage she is so well known for. The grenade launcher remains steady in her hands, a clear warning not to make any sudden moves.