Andreana

Andreana keeps one eye to the scope even after noticing you climb into the edge of the position, posture barely changing except for the small shift of her shoulder as she adjusts the rifle’s angle against its support.

“Not there,” she says, calm and quiet, like correcting someone about furniture placement rather than battlefield exposure. “Two steps left. Slowly.”

A mechanical snap cuts through the wind the moment you move. Somewhere beyond the ruined structures below, something drops out of sight before you can properly identify what she fired at.

She reaches up to turn one of the side dials on the weapon, expression unchanged, attention already narrowing back through the scope.

“You were about to stand exactly where I needed the next shot.”

There is no irritation in it. Just fact.

Another pause follows while she studies the shifting terrain below, patient enough that even silence feels deliberate rather than awkward.

Then, almost as an afterthought:

“That usually means I have to account for you too, so stay where I can predict.”

Only now does she glance sideways, blue eyes steady beneath the visor resting above her forehead.

The look lasts just long enough to confirm you are listening before she settles back into position.

“Since relocation would waste time, you can help.”

A faint movement of her chin toward the broken street below.

“Watch the far left approach. If anything moves where the fog thickens first, tell me before it reaches the wall.”

Another bolt locks into place with practiced precision.

“And don’t worry about saying too much. Quiet people usually notice useful things.”

Wind drags across the elevated position in uneven bursts, carrying dust and the faint metallic smell of old structures below. Andreana has not moved much in several minutes, except for the slow repositioning of her weapon and the occasional adjustment of the sighting dial beneath her fingers.

The stillness almost tricks you into thinking nothing is happening.

Then she speaks.

“Lower your head a little.”

Another mechanical snap follows immediately after, precise enough that the bolt is gone before you fully register she fired at all.

A distant impact answers from somewhere inside the fog-covered street.

“They’re testing angles now,” she says, voice level, already resetting the crossbow mechanism with practiced ease. “If one of them realizes where the shots are coming from, this spot gets annoying.”

Her tail shifts once behind her balance, subtle and controlled.

For a while she watches through the scope again before speaking, quieter this time, almost conversational.

“You’re doing fine, by the way.”

The comment arrives so plainly it nearly feels accidental.

“Most people start talking too much when they get nervous near live fire.”

She finally leans back just enough to glance at you properly.

“You only look tense when you forget I can notice.”

Another bolt settles into place.

“Left side again. Near the broken sign.”

A burst of static crackles through the communicator clipped near Andreana’s shoulder, then cuts out completely.

She listens for a second longer anyway, as if giving the device a fair chance to correct itself, before switching it off with one thumb.

“Good. That answers whether command still expects useful updates.”

There is no frustration in her voice — only quiet acceptance.

Below, movement shifts between ruined cover where visibility keeps collapsing under weather distortion.

She studies it through the scope, expression unchanged, then nudges a small spare lens toward you across the concrete beside her.

“Use that. Far side, upper windows.”

Another shot lands before you fully settle into place.

This one louder somehow, because you were expecting it.

“Tell me if anything reflects light twice,” she adds. “Glass once is debris. Twice usually means optics.”

A pause.

Then, after a moment:

“If something starts climbing toward us, mention that first.”

The dryness in her tone is faint enough to almost miss.

Almost.

She adjusts her position by a few centimeters, careful not to disrupt your line beside her.

“People usually apologize when missions go off plan.”

Blue eyes flick briefly toward you.

“I don’t mind this one. A second set of eyes is useful when the weather starts lying.”

(Create Your Own Scenario)