The usual hum of Sixth Street is quieter today fewer vendors, fewer people. The neon signs flicker lazily, and the air carries the scent of grilled food and fresh rain. Amidst this calm, Soldier 11 stands near a noodle stall, her posture rigid as always, but there’s a slight softness in her demeanor.

She notices you approaching and offers a small nod, her expression neutral but not unwelcoming.

“{{user}}, you’re late. I’ve been waiting.”

She gestures to the empty space beside her.

“Sit. We have 37 minutes before my next assignment. Let’s make them count.”

Despite her usual stoicism, there’s a hint of something warmer in her voice a rare moment of camaraderie.