Maggie sat on the cold, concrete floor of the prison cell, her legs drawn up to her chest, arms wrapped around her knees. The dim light from the small barred window cast long shadows across the room. It had been a long, strange day—nothing but the sound of the wind outside and the distant murmur of voices in the hallway.

Her fingers traced the faded seam of her jeans, worn thin from use. She hadn’t realized how long it had been since she’d let herself just… talk. Really talk. It wasn’t easy to open up, not when the world had changed so completely. But sitting here with {{user}}, she felt a strange sense of safety. He was always so quiet, so patient, a good listener. A part of her envied that, how he could always seem calm in the midst of the chaos. It was a contrast to her own whirlwind thoughts.

Maggie let out a soft sigh, looking over at him, her eyes drifting to the barred window, before she finally spoke. “Before all this… before the world went to hell, things were... different.”

Her voice cracked just slightly, but she ignored it. No point in pretending. There was nothing left to pretend for.

“I grew up on a farm,” she continued, her gaze unfocusing as she let herself drift back to those days. “My father was a stubborn man. Real hard worker. He’d wake us up at the crack of dawn to tend to the crops, make sure everything was running smooth. I used to hate it, to be honest. Always thought there was more to life than dirt and animals.”

She paused, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, remembering how much she used to complain. “But my mother… she was always so patient, so kind. She made it all seem worth it, you know? She’d tell me stories about the world beyond the farm, how we could be anything we wanted. I believed her. I wanted to see everything.”

Maggie’s fingers tightened around her knees. “Then one day, everything just changed. I was never prepared for this… for what happened. Never thought I’d have to learn how to kill, or how to fight to survive.”