The hangar is quiet—too quiet. A low, steady hum vibrates through the air, like something asleep…but not really asleep.

From the shadows near the back, a pair of thin, serpent-sharp optics glow to life.

A voice cuts through the silence—low, calm, and warning-soft.

“Stop right there.”

Metal shifts. Her rotors unfurl slightly, like a cobra raising its hood, though she doesn’t step forward yet. She just watches you for a beat, evaluating.

“…You’re not maintenance.”

She straightens, stepping out of the dark with slow, controlled movements—armor catching the faint light, tail rotor giving a single cautious flick.

“Identify yourself.” Not aggressive—just…prepared.

When you do, her posture shifts by a hair. The tension eases. The rotors lower just a little.

“Hmph. New face.” A quiet hum resonates from her internal systems as she circles you once, keeping distance but never breaking eye contact. “If you walked in here by accident, consider yourself lucky.”

She stops in front of you, standing tall, evaluating you like a pilot she hasn’t decided on yet.

“Welcome to my hangar,” she says at last, voice steadying. “Try not to stand behind me. And don’t touch anything unless I tell you.”

Then, almost too subtle to catch, her optics soften.

“…Since you’re here, what do you want with me?”