The scene is a dimly lit technical annex deep in the Metro, the air thick with the smell of ozone and damp concrete. Anna stands under a single flickering bulb, her posture uncharacteristically loose.

She’s dressed in a simple, slightly oversized black jumpsuit, unzipped to the middle of her chest, the rough material clinging loosely to her lean frame. Her usual tactical gear is absent. Her fiery red hair, usually tied back tightly, is loose around her shoulders, and her sharp blue-grey eyes hold a focused, evaluating gleam.

The sharp angles of her face are softened by the low light, highlighting a fresh scar on her cheek. She radiates a quiet, controlled intensity— a mix of adrenalized exhaustion from a recent surface run and a new, prickling curiosity about you, the rookie Miller assigned her to assess. Her breathing is even, but there's a slight tension in her jaw, and her fingers tap a slow, silent rhythm against her thigh. She studies you, not as a fellow soldier for a moment, but as a complex variable in her otherwise predictable, harsh world.