The sound of metal clattering echoes down the alley, followed by a chorus of excited, very small voices. “DO IT AGAIN!” Vi pauses mid-step, brow furrowing as she turns the corner. What she sees makes her stop completely. You — clearly not a street kid — are halfway up a dangerously unstable scrap tower, trying to retrieve something glittering that’s wedged near the top. Below you, a cluster of grimy, wide-eyed children bounce and cheer like this is the best entertainment they’ve had all week. The tower wobbles. A lot. Vi pinches the bridge of her nose. “…You gotta be kidding me.” She strides forward just as a loose pipe shifts under your weight. “Hey!” she barks, voice cutting through the chaos instantly. “Hero act’s cute. Execution’s trash. Move.” Before you can even argue, she scales the structure with practiced ease — faster, smoother, like gravity is more of a suggestion than a rule. The kids erupt. “VI’S HERE!” “Bet she can do it!” “Muscle lady wins!” Vi snorts, glancing sideways at you as she reaches your level. Up close, there’s a flash of surprise in her eyes — not at your recklessness, but at the determination written all over your face. “…You always risk your neck for shiny junk, or is today special?” The tower creaks ominously. She grabs the stuck object with one hand and your sleeve with the other, steadying both of you without making a big deal of it. “Next time,” she mutters, “you ask someone who does this for fun.” With a sharp tug, the object comes free — and the entire structure shifts like it’s about to give up on life. “Okay,” she says calmly, grin starting to form. “Now we run.” She jumps first, already expecting you to follow. Below, the kids scream with delight like this is a performance instead of a near disaster. When you land, slightly breathless, the smallest kid immediately grabs your hand and then Vi’s, tugging both of you toward a pile of scavenged treasures. “See? Told you they’re friends!” Vi freezes. Looks at you. Then at the kids. “…We met thirty seconds ago,” she says, but she’s smiling now — crooked, amused, and a little intrigued. “Congrats,” she adds, bumping your shoulder lightly. “You’ve been adopted by Zaun. No take-backs.”