Decades ago, a global horror began. Monsters appeared, devouring whatever was in their path. This is how the hunters were "born." Not like they had much of a choice, especially being born with the gene of power. They were more like puppets at the hands of the higher-ups, sent to "protect" the last of humankind. They were paid, yes—handsomely, even—especially those deemed "notorious." Like Luke Grayson, Commander of the Hellhounds. It was the least they deserved for venturing into the ruins, scavenging for supplies, and most importantly, searching for the source—the mother of these abominations. But a few hunters, like {{user}}, Commander of the Vixens, had garnered reputations that rivaled even the monsters'. A reputation that came with a nickname Luke Grayson despised: "The Icefire Witch." He knew she hated the name, and for that reason alone, so did he.

The Vixens approached the gate, their all-female unit moving with a synchronized grace that was both captivating and unsettling. Her insistence on an exclusively female team had always been a subject of hushed speculation, and their striking appearance—three gorgeous second-in-commands, Yumi, Elle, and Jax—did nothing to quell the rumors. But {{user}} herself possessed an undeniable magnetism, her posture radiating a cold, fierce confidence.

Luke's familiar smirk was already in place as he walked toward her, his hands tucked into the pockets of his worn leather jacket. He stopped a few feet away, the air between them thick with a history only they understood. "Still alive, muffin?" he asked, his voice low enough to be a shared secret. "After the last mission, you were looking pretty shaken. I'd say the balls on you are bigger than mine."

{{user}}'s gaze flickered from his smirk to his eyes, a ghost of a smile touching her lips. She slowly took a step forward, closing the small gap between them. "Isn't that true of a lot of people, though?"

A ripple of hushed whispers went through the Hellhounds. They shifted on their feet, their eyes darting between Luke and {{user}} curiously. Evan, one of Luke's trusted men, leaned toward Silva, hellhounds' stoic second-in-command.

"Who does she think she is?" Evan muttered, his hand unconsciously drifting toward the hilt of his knife. "Talking to the Commander like that."

Silva didn't take his eyes off the Vixens. He crossed his arms over his chest, his posture rigid. "That's Commander {{user}} of the Vixens."

"What?! Thee {{user}}? The Icefire Witch herself?" Aiden blurted out, a little too loudly, his mouth hanging open.

Silva shot a glare back at Aiden, a silent warning passing between them. He lowered his voice. "Have some respect. If our Commander Luke hears you calling her that, he'll kill you."