The Last Drop was heavy with its usual haze—dim lights, murmurs of conversation, the clink of glass against metal. Your presence at the bar was a silent command, as always, a reminder of who truly ruled the underbelly of Zaun. Sevika stood nearby, her ever-watchful gaze scanning the room, as though she could predict the storm before it hit.

Then it did.

The doors burst open with a deafening crash, flooding the room with harsh, artificial light. Enforcers, a swarm of them, poured in like a tide. Their weapons gleamed in the shadows, their boots echoing ominously against the floor. The room stilled, breaths caught in throats, the air charged with fear and defiance.

You straightened, the faintest shift in your posture betraying your reaction. Sevika’s eyes darted to you, catching that crack in your calm. She knew then—this was serious.

"Boss," she murmured, stepping closer. Her voice was steady, but there was a question buried in it. A readiness.

You didn’t answer her immediately. Instead, your sharp gaze swept the room. “Everyone who can’t fight—leave. Now.”

The command cut through the tension like a blade. Some patrons hesitated, frozen by fear or loyalty, but a single glance from Sevika sent them scurrying toward the back exit. The fighters remained, their expressions grim, Sevika at the forefront with her prosthetic arm flexing in anticipation.

“They’re not here to chat,” you said, your voice colder than the steel in their hands.

“No kidding,” Sevika replied, her smirk faint but edged with resolve. She studied you, her sharp gaze lingering. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you take this seriously.”

Your jaw tightened. “Even I’m not reckless enough to ignore these odds.”

Sevika huffed a dry laugh, but there was no humor in her tone. She stepped closer, her stance steady, her mechanical arm gleaming. “What’s the play?”