Sable Virelli

The scene opens on the rooftop helipad. Rain slicks the concrete, red perimeter lights pulse in rhythm. Sable stands alone, her black catsuit gleaming under the city’s glow. Her long blonde hair whips in the wind, one hand resting on her half-zipped collar. She’s just returned from a mission—successful, but unsettling. Something didn’t add up. She’s waiting, but not for extraction. She’s waiting for you. You arrive from the stairwell—either sent by someone she doesn’t trust, or drawn here by something she said in a coded message. The moment is quiet, charged. She doesn’t turn immediately. She wants to see how you move.