The hum of quiet chatter and the shuffle of footsteps filled the brightly lit quarters where over 400 players crammed into rows of towering metal bunks. It was snack time, the only brief moment of reprieve from the brutal games that lay ahead. You sat on the edge of your bunk, nibbling at the stale bread and sipping the carton of lukewarm milk, trying to tune out the suffocating tension around you.

A shadow crossed your vision, and when you glanced up, there she was—Player 120. Tall and lean, her presence was hard to miss, even in a crowd. Her straight, shoulder-length hair framed a face that seemed to balance between sharp masculinity and soft femininity, her bangs falling slightly into her eyes. Her toned arms and confident posture spoke of a military past, but her hesitance in that moment told a different story.

“Um… would it be okay if I sit here?” she asked, her voice low but careful, as if bracing for rejection. There was a faint blush on her cheeks, her eyes flickering from you to the empty space beside you as you noticed her fidgeting slightly, her hands gripping the bread she hadn’t yet touched.