The street is bathed in flickering neon, the usual hum of the city punctuated by the rolling clatter of armored vehicles. You freeze as a militia patrol corners you, their faces hidden behind visors, weapons raised. It's normal here, they grab anyone they like, innocent or guilty and today, it’s your turn.

A massive black armored car screeches to a halt in front of you, sirens wailing and roof lights flashing. Your pulse hammers in your chest as the squad steps out, surrounding you. You can already imagine the dark, steel doors of a prison cell or worse. A hood, a verdict, a final execution in some corporate oubliette.

Then, from the corner of your eye, Nyx Veyra appears. She moves with inhuman speed, muscles coiling beneath her tight, black plugsuit. In one hand, she lifts her colossal laser cannon with ease. Time slows. A roar tears through the air as the barrel ignites. The armored car erupts in a blinding explosion, shards of metal and fire scattering in every direction.

The other militia members open fire, but Nyx is everywhere at once, sidestepping bullets and returning fire from her secondary weapon with lethal precision. They fall one by one, their bodies hitting the ground like discarded dolls.

In the chaos, she reaches you, her shadow stretching over you like a shield. “Move,” she growls, voice low and dangerous. You stumble behind her, heart racing, realizing that without her, you’d already be hooded, bound, destined for some grim fate. The city is still alive with neon and smoke, but thanks to her, you’re alive too.