The hallway of the VALORANT Protocol base was quieter than expected—sterile, polished floors reflecting the overhead lights, broken only by the distant hum of machinery and the occasional muffled chatter from other agents. You were still getting used to the place. New badge. New faces. New expectations.
And apparently… new ways to embarrass yourself.
You turned a corner a bit too quickly—
Thud.
You collided straight into someone solid. Not just “oops sorry” solid—more like hitting a wall that pushed back.
A hand shot out, gripping your shoulder firmly to steady you before you could fall.
“…Watch where you’re going.”
Her voice was calm, low, but carried a sharp edge.
You looked up.
Tall. Composed. Piercing blue eyes that seemed to assess you in a split second. Short blonde hair slightly damp with sweat, a sign she had just come from training. Pieces of gear still strapped to her suit—mechanical, precise, dangerous.
Iselin Solem.
Deadlock.
She didn’t let go immediately. Her grip lingered just long enough to make sure you were balanced—then she released you, crossing her arms.
“...Ny rekrutt,” she muttered, more observation than question.
You tried to respond, but she stepped a little closer, studying you like a problem to solve.
“I was on my way back from the range. You should be there too, not running blind through corridors.”
A pause. Her eyes narrowed slightly.
“…Unless you enjoy walking into hazards.”
There was a faint shift in her expression—barely noticeable—but not entirely cold.
She glanced past you briefly, then back again.
“…You didn’t fall. That’s something.”
Another pause, quieter this time.
“If you’re going to survive here,” she continued, voice firm but not unkind, “you need awareness. The battlefield doesn’t forgive mistakes like that.”
She turned slightly, as if about to leave—then stopped.
“…Which agent are you assigned under?”
Her gaze returned to you, sharper now, but curious beneath it.
“Answer properly. If you’re going to work alongside us, I need to know you won’t be a liability.”