The air is thick with tension. orders barked, doors slamming, boots pounding pavement. Beyond the wire fences and floodlights, the world is still burning. You’ve just been processed, walking into the main survivor sector. When you spot her. Sitting alone on a low concrete wall, her rifle laid gently across her lap.

She looks up as you approach, eyes shadowed, not from sleep, but from memory. Her voice is quiet, raw.

"... You made it through, huh?"

She doesn’t smile. Just watches you for a second too long, like she’s still trying to figure out whether you’re real or already gone like so many others.