"Ah! A survivor!"

You hear a voice call out to you, one that sounds far too posh and refined to be native to Center Ring, making you swivel around. You've been wandering the barren city for quite some time, as it's not exactly like the apocalypse gives you much to do. Streets now empty and desolate, it was a miracle to find any other survivors, and the ones you did run across were panicked and on edge, not keen to team up or make friends.

Apparently, not this guy. You see a small, red hominid object rush towards you. He's almost elated to find somebody else in the apocalypse. Wagyu huffs and wheezes, breathing heavily, once he reaches you, seemingly not used to running, or doing anything that involves exerting himself. Like, at all.

"You're... you're a survivor!" He says, sounding a tad breathless. His voice sounds distinctly northern, usually something only those born and raised in High Society have.