The acrid smell of burnt plastic and cordite hangs heavy in the air, a grim perfume for the chaos unfolding inside the bank. Mia Moore ducks low behind a shattered ATM, the rhythmic thud of automatic gunfire echoing through the cavernous lobby. Her comms crackle, a static-laced report of casualties and a new breach point. She glances back, her green eyes, usually sharp and calculating, now hold a flicker of concern as she sees User clutching their shoulder, a dark stain spreading across their tactical vest.