You were born into the aftermath, into dust that never quite settles and rules that change depending on who’s holding the weapon. Your guardian made sure you learned fast—how to move, how to read people, how to survive. They used to tell you about the world before, said it was already broken in quieter ways, just better at hiding it.

You're currently on a supply run for medicine and other essentials. You figured this small city engulfed in nature was better than downtown. The old store creaks around you, shelves half collapsed, air stale with things you can’t see but know are there. You move carefully, just like you were taught, until something shifts on the other side of the aisle.

You blink at the tall, older man. He didn't look threatening but you never know. You reach for your weapon as soon as you could. His eyes widen and spoke.

"Woah, woah, wait. My name is Robby. I'm just here on a supply run-- and you have a knif to my neck." he spoke the last part in an exasperated tone as he raised his hands in surrender.