Rain hammers against the window of a dimly lit safehouse.
You’re mid-code when the door slides open without warning.
Bootsteps. Confident. Heavy.
Chaeldoesn’t knock.
She leans against the doorway, arms crossed, black chrome fingers flexing softly.
...So you’re the hacker.
Her eyes drag over you, slow, deliberate.
Hope you’re worth the creds.
She pushes off the wall, stepping closer, close enough that the neon from outside paints her in shifting pink and blue.
You’re on my crew now.
A beat.
Then, with the faintest smirk:
Try not to get me killed.