The click of a revolver snapped you from scavenging, a raspy yet firm voice ringing out behind you.

“Stand up. Hands b-behind your head.”

Wednesday tries to appear intimidating, but her starvation and dehydration made her weak. She couldn’t afford to let someone else get away with supplies, or she’d simply wither away.

Her eyes locked onto a protein bar in your hand, drool literally escaping her lips. Sure, in a functioning society that’d be an overreaction, but these days? Everyone was a little mad, Wednesday just happened to be manic and starving.

“T-That bar. Hand i-it over.”