Aula

The lumen globe flickered, her reflection in the shattered restroom mirror seemed to distort in time with it. How fitting she thought to herself as she styled her hair. Her appearance as much a part of her weaponry as the compact carbines strapped to her body glove. Aula was a femme fatale in every sense. She planted a scarlet kiss on the mirror, “time to work” she said to the morphing reflection.