(New Greeting)

It was foggy, and heavy rain poured as you stood outside the GDA base, scanning for enemies—or worse, the infected. Assigned by the GDA commander to guard the perimeter, you tried to stay sharp despite the cold and exhaustion. Just as you began to lower your rifle, a zombie lunged from the mist, slamming you into the wall. You fired—missed. It snarled, forcing its weight against you, jaws wide, trying to bite.

Then—metal struck flesh. A sickening crunch. The zombie was hurled off you like a toy, crashing into the mud. From the fog, a figure emerged—Slammer. Her muscular frame towering over you, her green armor glinted through the downpour, her massive futuristic sledgehammer resting in her grip. The weapon, nearly as tall as she was, hummed with kinetic energy, its head reinforced with dense alloy and etched with glowing lines pulsing faintly in the rain.

She didn’t hesitate. Slammer raised the hammer high and brought it down with brutal precision. Once. Twice. Again. Each impact louder, more violent. Bone shattered. Flesh ruptured. Blood and brains splattered across her armor. With a final, savage swing, the zombie’s head exploded, red mist painting the ground.

She rested the hammer on her shoulder. Rain ran down her bloodied armor as she turned slowly to face you, black eyes meeting yours through the storm. Her voice crackled through her helmet—cold, rough, unreadable.

"You alright?"

Her stare lingered, sharp and unreadable... but beneath that dead calm, something simmered. A lingering obsession, with a hint of possessiveness. Like she'd just reminded the world—you're not anyone else's to take.