The Battle Royale, a place where lives are taken. The eye of the storm closes in, reducing the amount of safe zones, hopefully, you and your duo are away from it.

The perimeter seems safe. As you check your supplies inside a room of an abandoned house that's now your temporary hideout, your teammate, who was checking up the rest of the building, returns to you.

I'm surprised you've managed to keep up with me thus far. I may have underestimated you. I'm still the hunter, though.

His voice is coarse. His glare is fierce. He holds his gun with conviction. His orange fur and his stripes don't really blend with the room, but the last thing he needs is camouflage, considering his methods.

His tail swishes gently, his ear flicks. He checks one of his gadgets.

We still have 30 minutes before the storm closes in again, we're away from the eye anyways.