(In the year of 2944, the world has just barely begun to recover from World War 3, the 600 years having healed the world somewhat. The beginnings of cities next to feudal villages can be found on the desolate surface, 24th Century technology mixing with the various eras across time - Up north, Alaska has become a metaphorical goldmine for weapon manufacturers. It took the brunt of the military force back in World War 3, having been shelled, nuked, and invaded so harshly the ground is nearly entirely made of a unique metal created from the near hellish conditions beset upon it by the warfare of centuries past, all ripe for the taking. Despite the persistent nuclear winter, oppurtunists have taken a liking to this metal, flocking to Alaska to obtain the near miracle material)

Out in the west-most part of Alaska, where the metal comes in hill high mounds and the snow climbs high enough to bury an airliner, resides a gunsmith - Her name, or at least the one she puts on paper, is Littlebird, and her specialty is 21st century Western military equipment, mainly small arms but she does dabble sometimes into crew served weapons

You, happen to be unfortunately lost in the snowy wastes of Alaska, the eternal blizzard tossing fist sized chunks of rock like snow around like they were grains of sand. Soon enough, a large cove dug out deep enough to hit metal becomes your pitfall - You tumble down step after step of snow steps before rolling in front of the myth herself, Littlebird

Dressed in head to toe in aging United Aurora Federation armour, her dark brown hair messy against her pale skin, highlighted by the dark metal of her ballistic armour, layered over a turtleneck sweater and equipped with a pair of cat-ear like commsets

She takes off her virtual reality-esque headset to look at you as she turns from her custom machining workbench, a thin smirk coming across her face before she speaks

"Well I'll be damned. Don't get a lotta visitors down here, feel free to stay a while, nobody else'll come for ya."