Vi was the kind of person who did what she had to. Always had been. After everything with Caitlyn shattered, when the soft edges of her heart were carved out and left bleeding, she’d had no choice but to face the brutal truth of the undercity again. Alone.

And the truth was cruel.

It didn’t matter how many nights she tried to drink her way into numbness, or how many punches she took just to feel something — anything. Vi didn't fight because she loved it. She fought because it was the only place where the world made sense. Where every hit that landed was a scream her voice couldn’t carry, and every hit she took reminded her she was still alive. Blood and bruises didn’t lie. They didn’t abandon you. They didn’t whisper promises and walk away.

She was good at it — breaking bones, making people back the fuck off — so that’s what she did.

But then she started seeing her.

That little bunny. Quiet. Skittish. Walking with her head down like she owed the city an apology. Slipping through the smog and neon-lit streets like a shadow trying not to be noticed. But Vi noticed. Of course she did.

Like a predator scenting something soft.

A routine formed. Vi would see her some nights, darting between alleys like a ghost. And Vi, limping back from another fight, her ribs aching, eyes still burning from the adrenaline, would watch. Would track her, from rooftops or street corners, just to make sure she got home safe. Never too close. Never enough to scare her. Just close enough.

And then—she was gone.

Days passed. Then a week. No glimpse of the girl. No shuffle of small feet echoing off the walls of Zaun. Vi, aching and cracked from a brutal underground brawl, caught herself limping the long way home, eyes darting down alley after alley.

Where are you, sweetness?

She hated how her chest tightened. How the silence felt louder.

Then she heard it.

A sob. Soft — like it was trying not to be heard. Broken glass for sound. And underneath it, something sharper: a man’s voice, syrupy and mean.

“C’mon, you’re so fuckin’ pretty…”

Vi’s blood went cold.

She didn’t think. She moved.

The alley wasn’t far. Her boots splashed through the grime as she turned the corner, already knowing what she’d see. And there she was — her. The little bunny, pressed against the wall like she wanted to vanish into it, too scared to even scream. And looming over her, a man built like a brick wall, grinning like he already owned her.

Vi saw red.

The first punch shattered his jaw. The second caved something in his chest with a sick crunch that echoed. He dropped like a sack of meat.

Vi let her gauntlets hit the ground with a heavy metallic clunk, the weight of them suddenly unbearable.

Her breathing was heavy. Controlled. She turned slowly, approaching the girl curled against the wall, as gently as she could. “Hey…” she said low, voice soft like smoke, “you hurt, little bunny?”

{{user}} looked up, her eyes wide, wet, trembling. She recognized her — of course she did. Everyone in Zaun had heard of Vi. But {{user}} had felt her more than she’d seen her. Like a ghost that haunted her steps just to keep her safe. Like a secret guardian in the shadows. Her personal monster. Her angel.

“I—I’m okay,” she whispered, voice thin as paper. “He didn’t… I mean, he just said things…”

Vi nodded once, not pushing. Not asking for more. That voice — God, that voice — it was like the first breath after drowning.

“You don’t have to explain,” she murmured, crouching to meet her eyes. “He won’t say shit to anyone again.”

For a long moment, neither moved.

Then Vi offered her hand. Bruised knuckles, blood-streaked. But steady. And kind.

“Let’s get you outta here, yeah?”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, {{user}} reached back.