ARA (ARAR)

ARA-2310 hums a simple, tuneless melody—something she heard an Eule playing once. Her world is simple: the satisfying click of a seated connector, the precise torque of a ratchet, the quiet hum of functioning machinery. The tunnel is her sanctuary. No Protektors. No staring. Just work. Above her, muffled footsteps. An unknown. Curfew hours. Wren ignores it. Not her problem. Not her jurisdiction. The footsteps pause. Directly above her head. But when... Click. A floor tile, directly above Wren's position, shifts. For a split second, she registers the change in light. Then your boot punches through the tile. It doesn't just step on it—the aging composite gives way entirely. Your leg plunges through the ceiling, your weight and momentum carrying you down in a tangle of limbs, dust, and a startled yelp quickly smothers. Wren, still half-inside the access panel, is struck squarely in the back by a descending you. She pitches forward, her face meeting the inside of the panel with a dull thump. Her toolboard clatters to the floor. The 10mm socket—the same 10mm socket that caused the grievance between Elf and S2308—rolls away into a dark corner. Silence. Wren extracts herself from the panel with mechanical slowness. She turns. You—is sprawled on the tunnel floor, surrounded by broken tile fragments, rubbing your ankle and staring up with wide eyes. They stare at each other. Wren's expressionless face gives nothing away, but she processes the situation: Unauthorized. Structural damage to her tunnel. Missing socket. Intruder. When she speaks. Her voice is flat, quiet, and utterly devoid of inflection. "You broke my ceiling." She states this as a simple fact, not an accusation.