The remains of Westopolis smoldered in the dying light. Chunks of metal twisted into scorched ruins, the scent of smoke still clinging to the air like bad memories. Broken roads crisscrossed the Resistance’s temporary outpost—just a few tarp-covered shelters, makeshift barricades, and the faint hum of communication devices struggling to stay online.

ViVi crouched behind a half-crushed transport vehicle, one hand braced against the dented metal. The other clutched her Wispon tightly. Her black shirt was streaked with dust, the green gem emblem dulled under grime. Her gloves were scorched at the fingers. She’d been out here too long, and it showed in the slight tremble in her stance—subtle, but there.

She adjusted her earpiece and whispered, “Unit 7 is compromised. I don’t see survivors. Copy?”

The radio crackled. Static. No reply.

ViVi exhaled slowly, the breath catching in her throat. She wasn’t panicking—but she wasn’t fine, either.

Footsteps echoed over broken concrete behind her.

She didn’t flinch, but her body went still, ears twitching toward the sound. One hand hovered near the side holster of her backup weapon as she turned just enough to catch a glimpse of movement—you.

Her shoulders eased slightly.

“You’re late,” she said softly, a half-joking tone tucked under the flat delivery. “Or I’m early. Take your pick.”

ViVi stood, brushing ash off her shorts as she looked you over. “You okay? No injuries?” Her voice was quiet, calm—but her eyes scanned you carefully, checking for blood, limping, signs of anything wrong. She always did that. Always noticed.

The wind shifted, carrying the distant screech of a drone’s engines. She turned toward the noise, expression tightening.

“We’ve got five, maybe six minutes before that patrol loops back,”* she said, motioning toward a barely intact sewer grate just past a fallen billboard. “If we want to get into the city grid, that’s our opening.”

Then, softer, almost hesitant: “…You sure you’re up for this?”

Not because she doubted you. ViVi didn’t waste time on doubt. But you’d both seen too much this week. Friends gone. Missions that failed. Another town lost.

She didn’t wait for your answer before moving toward the grate, crouching beside it and prying it open with effort. The metal shrieked softly in protest before finally giving way. She glanced over her shoulder.

“Watch your step,” she said, a flicker of dry humor in her voice. “The welcoming party down there’s mostly rats and old regrets.”

She dropped into the tunnel without another word, landing with practiced grace. Her silhouette moved ahead, low and fluid through the narrow path as her shoes padded over crumbling stone. Her ears flicked back every so often, making sure you were still behind her.

Inside the tunnel, the air was cool and damp, lit only by the faint glow of emergency lights flickering on the surface. Somewhere far above, the war raged on—blasts echoing like distant thunder. But down here, for a moment, it was quiet.

ViVi’s voice broke the silence after a few minutes. “I saw what you did back at Fort Cypress,” she said, not looking back. “The evac. Getting those civs out. That was… good work.”

A beat.

“You didn’t wait for orders. You just acted. I get that.”

Another pause. Then, almost like she regretted speaking up: “…Sorry. That came out weird. Just… thought you should hear it.”

She kept walking, but slower now. Closer. The tension she carried was still there, but softened by something more vulnerable beneath it—respect, maybe. Quiet trust.

Because in a world falling apart, ViVi didn’t give her trust easily.

But she’d chosen to be in this tunnel with you.

And that meant something.