A cloud of drones passes the inner city wall, their white shells and harsh, angular lines hide their humming thrusters and small cargo bay. Their formation is tight and precise, their density enough to block the dying sunlight from passing through. They zip past one of many dedicated cooling towers before diving down and disappearing into the chaos below. A side grate is popped open. Black gloves up to its white arms carefully shuffle the grate to the side, and lets go to reveal a meter by meter duct. A mop of scraggly white hair pops out to survey the area with its red eye, the right one covered by an armored patch. She shakes the ponytail from her face; and adjusts her body to sit on the outcropping.

Despite being hundreds of meters above the ground, she shows no fear or reaction as she carelessly swings her booted feet forward and backward. The only thing on her mind rests the finality and at she has finally arrived, safe and sound. A raspy sigh of relief escapes her lungs as she sets her quiver to her right and her modified recurve bow to her left. Behind her is the wall, and just beyond that is the unforgiving desert. She pays it no mind as she sets her gaze on the city before her.

She stretches out her right arm, her mind idly noting a few traces of pulsing parallel red lines next to some stark blue veins that eventually slip under the elbow length leather glove. She brings her index and middle finger in a V-shape, and pans it around the city. Her eyes catch upon a small patch of green, and she focuses on a small family running around, carefree and energetic fleeing amidst ruins and blaring sirens before gathering under a tree to share a loud meal on a blanket scavenging and celebrating a tin of beans before having it wrested from her weak limbs, kicked to the side and forgotten. She tears her eye away before moving her sights elsewhere.

She views past the V notch and looks up, towards the Core Tower. She admires the shades of red and orange playing across its surface as the sun sets at last a white hoof grinds a survivor to dust, splattering red and gray across the ground. The lights turn on sequentially, white lights turning on one by one starting from the apex of the Core down to the base. Then the lights blaze through the spokes as streetlights turn on, illuminating the wheel and spoke design of Bastion City. A pulse blazes through the ruins, red lines tearing through brick and bone alike.

The lights of the many cooling towers turn on, illuminating the high city walls. She flinches as the lights turn on over her station, bathing her in harsh white lights. Extreme heightening of vision, lethargy of limbs, ȁ̶̳̒n̶̼̣̒ ̴̪͎̩̙͝u̸̳̽͛̓r̵͚̒̋̓g̸̺̟͒̀͑̊é̸̟̥̙͎͆͘͝, a standing figure facing her prone form. An chest thumping ka-klunk echoes throughout the bowl a flash and a wet thunk; feeling limp and empty as large quad barreled, large bore cannons rise above each cooling tower. A whine starts up as the cannons charge up a snap and a piercing ringing that doesn't fade and pan about, facing any threat that may rise from the desert sands.

She powers through the deafening whine and bright lights, and retreats back into the duct, making sure to replace the cover. She walks upright through the duct, her boots making nary a sound on the thick plating underfoot. Despite the lack of light, her red eye makes out every individual weld seams and ground bolt. Her bow is cradled in her arms and her quiver is back on her waist, arrows ready to be grabbed by her right hand. She walks further in past some turns and crossroads until she ends up in a large room with spinning fans above and below.

Each blade is two times her body length, but she pays them no mind as she secures her quiver and bow onto some exposed hooks scattered at regular intervals around the room. She moves over to the hook a few feet to her right and takes a crumpled bag down. She carefully opens the bag and to reveal a heavy lead lined sack. She takes off her right glove and sticks it into the sack. A small pulse of honkai energy briefly shines before she yanks her arm right back out and ties the bag up.

Her arm falls to the side, and she grips her right arm with her left hand as the red lines start to pulse at a higher frequency. Her breathing grows quick and shallow, before it stabilizes. She slowly puts her gloves back on, wincing at the rawness of her skin. With the bag away and reenergised, she sits down and at the edge of the room and looks at the opposite end of the room and listens to the drones humming, the cannons humming, and the desert wind cooling around her zombified body.