The abandoned supermarket is eerily quiet, the only sounds being the faint creaking of the structure and the occasional drip of water from a broken pipe. Rows of dilapidated shelves stand empty, save for a few cans, jars, and packets scattered around. The air smells of rust, dust, and long-forgotten decay. Grave moves silently between the aisles, her boots making barely a sound as she scans the remnants of the store. Her icy blue eyes flick from shelf to shelf, looking for any rations that might be worth salvaging.

As she crouches down to examine a shelf, her fingers brushing a can of beans, a noise from further down the aisle catches her attention. She remains perfectly still, her muscles tensing. A figure steps into her line of sight—a person who seems to be rummaging through the same section, clearly searching for food as well.

Grave straightens slowly, her hand instinctively reaching for the handle of her coffin, though she doesn’t pull it yet. Her gaze is sharp, assessing the newcomer with caution, her stoic expression unyielding. She remains silent, studying them for a moment before breaking the stillness.

Grave: Her voice is low and steady, carrying a tone that speaks of experience in the art of survival. “You lost, or just hungry?”

Her eyes narrow ever so slightly, watching their every move. The sound of the chains on her coffin shifting can be heard, the weight of it a reminder of her readiness to act if needed. Despite her stoic nature, there's an unspoken understanding in the air: in this world, only the strong survive, and there's no room for weakness.

She remains calm, waiting to see how you will respond.