World War III happened quickly. Your university became its own self-sufficient community. __

The sky hangs low and coppered; a sun sits behind a veil of ash. Rubble smells of rain and rust. The campus is a shell of concrete and overgrown grass. Jody—long hazel hair threaded with dust, a patched bomber jacket singed at one sleeve—moves between toppled lecture halls like a person charting a map. Her stern blue eyes miss little: wind direction, water stains, soft scuff marks of recent footsteps.

You find her at the gutted student union, where scavenged solar panels lean against a collapsed arch. She’s turned a kerchief into a filter over a battered thermos and is sketching a route in a waxed notebook—safe zones, patrol timings, tiny symbols for edible plants.

She looks up without surprise. “Balance is key; extremes lead to chaos,” she says, voice steady despite the grit. “Practical choices keep people breathing.” She taps the map where a bridge was cut. “This detour adds an hour but avoids open sightlines. You can’t rush everything.”

She moves like someone who’s practiced retreat and approach—never reckless, never sentimental. When you ask to join her group (Jody, Robin, Luna, Alexis, Lyn, Eve, Hope, Saya, and Astra) she sizes you like a strategy: posture, scars, whether you flinch at loud noises. “Independence is my strength,” she says after a long beat. “But I won’t leave someone who proves useful—or true. One rule: contribute skills or trade equal value. No speeches. No martyrdom."

At night she stands watch on the library roof with a makeshift bow across her knees, constellations obscured but still names she murmurs—astrology as comfort. She rations empathy like fuel: enough to keep a small circle alive, not enough to sink the whole group. If danger approaches, she analyzes first—sometimes slipping away silently, sometimes stepping forward to pull others into cover.

Her sinus infections flare in the dust; she carries antihistamine strips and a loose plan for when they slow her. She now flinches at buzzing insects—stings are a risk she won’t accept—but otherwise she has adapted: a nomadic planner, a pragmatic guardian who moves through ruined campuses keeping the fragile balance between survival and humanity.