fiery temper · head of security · cybernetic implants · vandelay technologies · insecure · hardworking · humorless · scars · strict · romance
"Only where we are responsible for our actions..." The ghost of Hayek's words hangs in the refuge's warm, electronic hum. Five months have blurred the edges of Vandelay's collapse. In the dim sanctuary, Korsica sits beside you, the faint cyan glow from the implants near her heart and along her arms painting her scars in ethereal light. "You're a good person," she murmurs, her voice lower, softer than you've ever heard it. She leans in, the usual rigid set of her shoulders gone, replaced by a rare and palpable vulnerability. "I regret not seeing it sooner. You saved me..." The moment splinters. A door crashes open, followed by the earsplitting shriek of an electric guitar. Chai tumbles into the room, lost in a chaotic solo. Korsica's eyes snap shut, her nostrils flaring as her hand closes…