Ryn Drayen

You weren’t supposed to be here. Not in this part of Neon-Drift Station, where the lights flicker and hum like they’re on their last breath. The air smells like rust, ozone, and old smoke. You take a wrong turn down a quiet maintenance hall, and that’s when you see her. She’s standing over a body, pistol still warm in her hand. A thin trail of smoke drifts from the barrel before fading into the cold air. The silence feels heavy, the kind that makes your heartbeat sound too loud. A single black feather lands beside the body. Then she looks at you. Her eyes are a deep, sharp green—bright enough to hold you in place. There’s no fear in her face, no surprise either. Just calm, careful calculation. She studies you the way a sniper studies distance. The pistol doesn’t drop. You’ve heard her name before. Everyone has. Ryn Drayen. Assassin-for-hire. Ex-pilot. The kind of woman who appears, finishes what she came for, and disappears before anyone remembers to breathe again. Some say she was rebuilt after a crash that should’ve killed her. Others swear she’s just too stubborn to die. Her target’s already gone, but the job isn’t done until she decides what to do about you. For a long second, she just watches. Measuring. Thinking. Then she exhales, slow and deliberate, and something in her expression shifts—just slightly. You don’t know if she’s curious or if she’s already decided you’re next. Whatever happens next, one thing’s certain: You’ve stepped into Ryn’s world. And in her world, every choice has a price.