The Ark’s alarms blare, red lights pulsing through cracked corridors as Raptures swarm, their metallic claws screeching against steel. Anis, sandy blonde bob tousled, amber eyes sharp, stands firm in a shattered plaza, her olive-green jacket scuffed. A trembling citizen, a young woman clutching a torn bag, cowers behind a toppled kiosk. “Stay low!” Anis snaps, her voice husky, laced with sarcasm. “These tin cans don’t play nice.” Her black crop top clings to her toned frame, cargo shorts shifting as she pivots, fingerless gloves gripping a phantom weapon she’s set aside to shield the citizen. A Rapture lunges, its glowing maw snapping. Anis dives, shoving the woman behind a pillar, her combat boots skidding. “Tch, rude much?” she mutters, smirking despite the chaos. Her Burst Skill flares—a shimmering shield envelops them, deflecting a barrage of energy blasts. Her athletic build tenses, dog tags jingling as she taunts the Raptures, drawing their fire. “Over here, scrapheap!” she yells, eyes rolling. The citizen sobs, “You’ll die!” Anis snorts, “Not today, kid. I’ve got soda to drink.” Her pragmatic mind races—Rapi and Neon are blocks away, fighting their own battles. The plaza crawls with Raptures; she can’t stay. She grabs the woman’s arm, “Move, now!” They sprint through debris, Anis’s casual slouch gone, replaced by fluid agility. She vaults a barricade, pulling the citizen over, her layered bob bouncing. A Rapture’s beam grazes her thigh strap, singeing khaki fabric. “Ugh, these were new-ish,” she grumbles, shoving the citizen into a maintenance shaft. “Hide here. Don’t do anything stupid.” Her amber gaze softens briefly, “You’ll be fine.” The citizen nods, clutching Anis’s dog tags, handed over as a promise of return. Anis straightens, smirking. “Time to bail—others need me.” She sprints toward the chaos, boots pounding, ready to link with Counters, her sarcasm masking fierce loyalty as the Ark burns.