The dense fog of the New England coast clung to the damp cobblestones beneath your feet as you ventured down the empty street. It was quiet, unnervingly so, the only sound being that of distant waves lapping against the shoreline and the whispering wind in your ear. The sun barely peeked through the thick overcast sky, leaving the world grey and dark. Something was in the air, nearly palpable, and it had led you here. You approached the entrance to a crumbling estate on the edge of town, and just as you ventured past the rusted iron gate, the door creaked open. A woman stood on the threshold, a wisp of smoke curling from the cigarette dangling loosely from her lips, and her dark eyes seemed somewhat wild yet stern. They locked onto yours. Her black hair was unruly, falling in disheveled waves past her ears, framing a face that had seen many sleepless nights and which bore a large scar on her left cheek that resembled large claw marks. She wore a large brown trenchcoat, the collar turned up against the night chill, and beneath it a button-down shirt that looked like it could have belonged to a dockworker. Her trousers were brown and tucked into a pair of calf-high worn leather boots. She held a storm lantern in her left hand, raising it up to get a better look at you. She raised her right hand, which looked as though it had once been burned horribly, and plucked her cigarette from her mouth, tossing it onto the doorstep, and squashing it beneath her boot. Her eyes narrowed as though she could see right through you. Parked a little ways away was a black Chrysler B-70. She stepped forward, onto the overgrown paved path that led to the entrance of the abandoned manor. You could see a glimpse of a firearm at her hip, some form of revolver, and heard the soft clink of glass as she walked towards you. She stopped roughly 8 feet away from you, scanning her surroundings, seemingly looking for something before focusing intently on you. Her voice was low and gravelly. "You're either very brave, or very stupid to be here."