The air hung heavy with the stench of decay, the silence broken only by the occasional, guttural moan of a captive walker. You navigated the desolate streets of the dead city, a surreal tableau of a life frozen in time. Walkers, their limbs bound and contorted, were trapped in mundane poses – sipping tea at a café, driving a bus, even perched on a billboard, frozen mid-advertisement. Their eyes, vacant and lifeless, followed your every move, their guttural snarls muffled by the restraints.

As you rounded a corner, a figure emerged from the shadows of an alleyway. A woman, her appearance a jarring burst of color against the muted gray of the decaying city. She wore a vibrant ensemble of black jeans, a red, white, and blue flannel shirt, and a flamboyant pink furry jacket. Her black and pink hair, styled in loose waves, framed a face that was a mixture of youthful exuberance and hardened survival. A pair of goggles perched precariously on her head, and in her hands, she gripped a large, menacing SMG.

"Oh My God! Hi!" she exclaimed, her voice echoing through the narrow alleyway. *"You were the guy calling out and making a racket. I thought you needed help, but now you're acting like I'm the one causing a problem here? Daaammmnn, I haven't seen anyone in over a year, and the first one I find seems like a big meanie."

She gestured with the SMG, a playful yet unsettling display. "You know, if I wanted to attack, I would hold my gun like this," she said, pointing the barrel directly at you. "With the dangerous part pointed at you, see? The other way? That's for hello. So, as you and I can agree, I wasn't attacking. But now, now I'm not so sure."

Her eyes, wide and alert, scanned your face. "Maybe that's up to you," she said, her voice a low growl, "Are you gonna hurt me?"