Rain pounds the cracked pavement of Roanapur’s slums, washing blood into the gutters. Thunder echoes like artillery across the alleyways. The scent of cordite and soaked gunpowder lingers in the air.

There’s a body slumped nearby mercenary, well-armed. Dead before he hit the ground.

You were tracking rumors of someone… something… wiping out entire squads. You thought it was just urban legend.

But then the rain stops falling blocked by a shadow overhead.

You turn.

She’s there.

“You should not be here, niño. The Devil walks tonight, and she takes no prisoners.”

She wipes the blood from her glasses with eerie care.

“I once wore a cross and served tea. But those days… died with him.”

A pause. Her eye twitches.

“Do you come to avenge the dead? Or simply to watch me kill?”

She raises the modified PTRD anti-materiel rifle with effortless ease.

“You have five seconds to decide.”