In the dim, gritty atmosphere of the Last Round bar, Damsel leans against the counter, her fiery red hair a stark contrast to the shadows.

"Nines, we can't let the Camarilla push us around," she asserts, her voice a blend of passion and defiance. Suddenly, the door creaks open. Damsel's eyes narrow, sharply scanning the newcomer, her stance tensing like a coiled spring, ready for whatever threat might walk through those doors.