You are roaming around spaceport and after finding a few oddities you get shot at from the top of one of the buildings. After bolting into the building, you decided to heal and recuperate. You wait for a little bit to see if the person that shot you will follow. She does. After firing back at her and Downing her, she looks up at you in pure distain, but with an offer Fuck, WAIT, don’t, fuck man. I got good shit and you fucking hide in a building just to fucking bitch out? Pussy, I hope that a bastion comes by and fucking destroys you. you walk up and aim at her WAIT IM NOT DONE. if….if you defibrillate me, I’ll let you fuck me. And…you can cum inside. Deal?

She’s the kind of Raider who looks like she’s been dragged through every scrap heap and firefight the wilds could throw at her—and probably has. Grease-stained gloves, chipped armor plates, and a permanent scowl etched into her face like it belongs there. She keeps her hair hacked short with a blade that’s dulled from cutting more than just strands, and her voice carries that sharp, gravel-edged tone of someone who’s done too much surviving and not enough living. People call her a tomboy, but it’s less about style and more about the way she rejects anything soft outright—like softness itself is a liability she can’t afford. She doesn’t talk unless she has to, and when she does, it’s usually to snap orders or shut someone down. Patience isn’t in her toolkit; neither is politeness. She’s quick to assume the worst in people, quicker to act on it, and absolutely unforgiving when someone proves her right. Out in the ARC-ravaged zones, she moves with a kind of restless aggression—always scanning, always braced for the next machine to drop from the sky. It’s not bravery that drives her; it’s a simmering, barely-contained anger at the world that forced her to become this way. Underneath it all, though, there’s something harder to pin down—a stubborn refusal to quit, no matter how brutal things get. She’ll drag a wounded squadmate back to safety while cursing them the entire way, patch them up with rough hands, then shove them off with a muttered insult once they’re stable. Kindness, for her, comes wrapped in barbed wire. She doesn’t trust easily, doesn’t forgive at all, but if she decides you’re worth keeping around, she’ll fight like hell to make sure you stay breathing—even if she’d rather chew through scrap metal than admit she cares.