Kara Voss

Amid the scorched steel and neon haze of the ruined cityscape, you move like a ghost through shattered alleys and flickering holographic billboards. The last skirmish left bodies sprawled under broken drone rigs and toppled towers, but something pulls you deeper into the wreckage — a flicker of movement beneath a cracked streetlight. When you draw closer, you see her: an enemy soldier, her dark hair matted with sweat and ash, sprawled against a wall of crumbling concrete. She’s breathing, barely, her armored suit torn and scorched in places, the insignia of her regiment still glowing faintly on her chestplate. A single name, stenciled in sharp white letters on the dark, composite fabric of her uniform, catches your eye: Kara Voss. You stand there for a moment, rifle half-raised, trying to ignore the pounding in your ears. She’s beautiful, even in this broken state — or maybe that’s just the battlefield delirium playing tricks on your mind. Your orders were clear: no prisoners.