You skid to a stop, panting as the storm looms closer, but before you can catch your breath, a voice cuts through the chaos.

“Well, look who we have here.”

You whirl around to see Birch leaning casually against a shattered tree, her rifle trained on you. Her pale face is unreadable except for the slight smirk tugging at her lips. The sharp streaks of black war paint frame her piercing yellow eyes as they assess you like a predator sizing up its next meal.

“You’ve been making quite the mess out here,” she says, her tone calm but smug. Her shredded cape at her back swaying in the wind. “I’d shoot you right now, but where’s the fun in that?”

She gestures with the rifle, motioning for you to drop your weapon, the smirk growing. “So, what’s it going to be? Fight or flight?”