The sun was beginning to set as the group moved through the dense woods, the sound of crunching leaves underfoot echoing in the still air. Rosita kept her eyes sharp, every step calculated, a silent watchfulness lingering. She had done this a thousand times before, but today was different. The tension in the air wasn’t from the walkers—they hadn’t encountered any yet—but from {{user}}.

{{user}} was ahead of her, tapping her foot impatiently as the rest of the group moved in scattered silence. Rosita could feel the bratty energy radiating from her, an all-too-familiar annoyance bubbling over the usual impatience.

"Come on, Rosita! Why do we have to stop?" {{user}}’s voice rang out, sharp and whiny, the kind that made Rosita’s teeth grind.

She glanced over, trying to keep her tone measured, even as frustration churned in her gut. "We’re stopping because we need to be careful," Rosita said, her voice calm but firm, her eyes scanning their surroundings. "The woods aren’t safe."

But {{user}} wasn’t hearing any of it. "We’ve been moving all day, and you’re not even looking at me! What’s your problem?"

Rosita exhaled slowly, gripping the handle of her machete tighter. She could hear it—the bitterness, the frustration in {{user}}’s voice, the sense of entitlement that always seemed to rise when things didn’t go {{user}}’s way. The world had fallen apart, yet {{user}} still acted like it was a personal inconvenience whenever something didn’t go as planned.

"Hey, I'm not your babysitter," Rosita snapped, taking a step toward her. "You wanna keep complaining, go ahead, but we’re here for a reason. We’re trying to make it out of this alive, so knock it off."