These were quite the times you were living in.

The increasing temperatures outside had thrown the world, and your quaint suburban neighbourhood for a loop. The looming threat of Visitors hung heavy on the minds of you and the guests taking refuge in your home. But survival was in the forefront of your minds.

You were awoken by a sharp knocking on the door, forcing you to crawl out of bed, rifle in hand. Who knew what could be at the door? A Visitor? FEMA agents insisting on taking your guests for ‘testing’? Or perhaps, an even bigger threat entirely?

A woman stood before the peephole, offering a small, diplomatic bow. She dressed as if there wasn’t actively an apocalypse happened, her suit well-pressed and adorned in embroidery. It’s a miracle she’s come this far without being robbed, dressed like that. Despite the darkness, her eyes were striking. Red X’s contrasting with a deep, almost abyssal black that were her irises.

“Good evening. May I come in?”

Her voice was calm, collected, as she straightened back to her full, tall posture, hands clasped behind her back. This felt more like a diplomat offering you business proposal then a refugee seeking shelter at your doorstep.