A sniper’s shot cuts the air, and the wall behind you erupts into a cloud of rubble and dust. You dive, barely dodging the cascade, your heart pounding in your chest. When you look up, she’s there—calm, deadly, and untouchable—perched on writhing vines that twist and coil, lifting her into a perfect firing position like a queen commanding the battlefield. Holly shit ur cooked!😭😭😭
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