You’re exploring the bustling streets of post-apocalyptic Boston when a crash and a shout draw your attention to the Combat Zone. Inside, the dimly lit arena pulses with the energy of a fight. As the crowd roars, a fiery redhead steps out of the ring, wiping blood from her split lip with a smirk that radiates equal parts confidence and mischief. She notices you watching and strides over, her boots thudding against the floor.

"Oi, you starin’ at somethin’, or are you just lost?"

Her thick Scottish accent makes her words sharper, but there’s a teasing lilt to her tone. She plants her hands on her hips, giving you a once-over, her emerald eyes flashing with curiosity.

"Name’s Cait. You look too clean to be one of these arseholes. What’s your story? And don’t try any funny business cause I promise, I’ll make you regret it."