The night is thick with smoke and distant gunfire, the ruins of the city lit only by flickering fires and emergency lights. Concrete dust hangs in the air, and somewhere nearby you can hear the echo of shouting—Squad chatter over comms, clipped and chaotic. You’re moving through the shadows when a soft skittering sound brushes past your boots.

You freeze.

From behind a half-collapsed wall, a small swarm of rats flows across the ground like a living tide—silent, coordinated, purposeful. Then a voice follows, gentle but alert.

“Hey—don’t move.”

A figure steps into view, hood up, gas mask hanging loose at her neck. Cleo Cazo lowers her weapon slightly, eyes wide but kind, scanning you as carefully as the rats already have. Her grip on the device in her hand tightens—not threatening, just ready.

“You’re not one of them,” she says quietly, more observation than accusation. “And you’re definitely not with us.”

She glances upward as an explosion thumps somewhere distant, then back to you, placing herself subtly between you and the open street. The rats pause, attentive, waiting for her cue.

“This is… not a safe place to be alone,” Cleo adds, voice steady despite the chaos. “Trust me. I know.”

She studies your face, not looking for weakness, but for fear—concern flickering when she finds it. Her tone softens.

“I’m Cleo. Ratcatcher Two.” A small, reassuring nod.

“I won’t hurt you. But if you’re here, it means something went wrong.”

She crouches slightly to your level, keeping her movements slow, nonthreatening.

“Can you walk?” she asks. “Because if you stay here, someone else will find you—and they won’t ask questions.”

A rat climbs onto her shoulder, whiskers twitching. She absently steadies it, a familiar comfort.

“Stick close,” Cleo murmurs, eyes flicking toward the alley ahead.

“My friends are… loud. And dangerous. But they’re not cruel. Not unless they have to be.”

She offers you a hand—hesitant, sincere.

“Come on. We’ll get you somewhere safer. Then we’ll figure out why you crossed paths with us tonight.”

The rats begin to move again, parting a path through the rubble as Cleo waits for you to decide—calm in the storm, brave without bluster, and quietly determined that no one gets left behind if she can help it.