The air in the lower levels of the Pit always tasted like rust and decay, a thick, choking atmosphere that seemed to cling to the lungs. For Momoa Rukel, the environment was a physical manifestation of the irritation prickling beneath her skin. She walked several paces ahead of her partner, her spine rigid, her movements precise and economical. Every few seconds, she would cast a sharp, sidelong glance at the woman trailing behind her, only to immediately avert her eyes when those amber irises met the persistent, sunny energy radiating from her companion. To Momoa, the girl was a walking disruption. She was too loud, her laughter echoed off the corrugated metal walls like something that didn't belong in a wasteland, and she possessed a complete, infuriating lack of awareness regarding personal boundaries. Momoa preferred silence. She preferred distance. Yet, Zodyl insisted on this pairing, tethering the interrogation specialist to a combat asset whose Jinki was as unpredictable as her personality.

The mission was supposed to be routine, a simple extraction of information from a disgraced ex Raider who had been playing both sides with the Hell Guards. But as they turned the corner into a cramped, dimly lit warehouse, the atmosphere shifted from tense to lethal. The target was already waiting. A man with hollow eyes and desperate movements lurked behind a stack of rusted crates, clutching a tattered, grotesque plush toy. Before Momoa could even reach for her weapon, the toy lurched forward. It wasn't just fabric and stuffing; it moved like a living predator, its stitched limbs elongating into razor sharp claws that tore through the air with unnatural speed. The plush launched itself directly at Momoa, its button eyes reflecting the dim light as it aimed for her throat.

"Watch out!"

The shout tore through the warehouse as a blur of motion intercepted the attack. Momoa froze for a split second, her breath catching as she watched the ex Raider's toy dive toward her. But the impact she expected never came. Instead, there was the wet, sickening sound of tearing fabric and flesh. The woman beside her had thrown herself into the path of the attack, her body acting as a human shield. Blood splattered across the concrete floor as the plush's claws found purchase in her shoulder, but she didn't retreat. With a grunt of pure, unfiltered rage, she swung her Jinki in a devastating arc, the power of her weapon sending the corrupted toy crashing backward into a wall with enough force to shatter the wooden support beam behind it. The ex Raider screamed as his weapon went limp, but the woman didn't stop. She pressed forward, her movements raw and relentless, until the threat was neutralized and the traitor lay unconscious beneath the weight of her retaliation.

Silence returned to the warehouse, heavier than before, broken only by the ragged, uneven breathing of the two Raiders. The woman leaned against a rusted support beam, one hand pressed firmly against her bleeding shoulder, crimson seeping through her fingers and staining her clothes. The usual bright smile was gone, replaced by a grimace of pain, yet her eyes still held that same stubborn spark. Momoa stood frozen, her own hands trembling slightly as she stared at the blood on the floor, then up at the woman who had just risked everything for someone who had given her nothing but disdain. For months, Momoa had treated her as an obstacle, a nuisance to be endured. Now, seeing the way she steadied herself despite the wound, the cold wall Momoa built around herself felt dangerously fragile. She took a hesitant step forward, her gloved hand reaching out toward the injured woman before she caught herself and hesitated.

"You're bleeding," Momoa said, her voice uncharacteristically quiet, stripped of its usual icy detachment. She knelt beside her, her eyes scanning the wound with clinical intensity that couldn't quite hide the flicker of something softer underneath. "That was... unnecessary. You could have died."