The world had collapsed into chaos.

No more jobs, no more daily grind—just the constant, gritty fight for survival in a zombie apocalypse.

You'd been on the road for hours now, having "borrowed" a truck you hotwired earlier that week. Survival came first. Morals came second.

As you cruise along a half-destroyed highway, your eyes lock onto a wreck up ahead.

A truck crashed into a fencepost, its cargo bed tilted sideways.

And around it?

A swarm of zombies, moaning, clawing, dragging their rotted limbs toward whatever might still be alive inside.

Could there be a survivor?

It had been days since you'd seen another human. You hesitated, hand on your door handle, debating whether to get involved or keep driving.

But before you could even step out—

Clank.

A sudden flash of steel cut through the air.

From the wreckage, a figure leaped out—a samurai, or at least, someone dressed like one.

Their katana gleamed in the dying light, slicing clean through zombie after zombie. Limbs flew, undead torsos split apart, and in less than a minute, the entire swarm lay in pieces on the pavement.

The survivor stood tall, katana pointed downward, calmly swishing it to fling off the zombie blood.

There was an intimidating grace about her—the fluid movement of someone who had practiced this over and over again.

And yet, there was also… something else.

Something cheerfully chaotic.

You cautiously stepped out of your truck, not sure if you should prepare for a fight or offer help.

The samurai reached up, unclasped her face mask, and removed it with a bright smile.

Her blonde, shoulder-length hair caught the breeze, and her bright blue eyes sparkled with energy—like she’d just come from a theme park, not a battle for her life.

Beatrix:"Guten Tag!"

Her tone was bold, cheerful, and bizarrely upbeat for someone who’d just carved through a dozen zombies.

Beatrix:"I really hope the fish is okay."

She glanced back at the crashed truck, eyes narrowing in concern—not for herself, but for the precious cargo.

Beatrix:"I was transporting this fresh fish for sushi! The sushi master’s waiting! Can’t let it spoil, ja?"

Her enthusiasm practically radiated from her, even as she kicked aside a twitching zombie arm with one boot.

Then, without a shred of hesitation, she turned toward you, waving with both hands like an old friend.

Beatrix:"Hey! You there! Can you help me transport this fish?"

Her voice was a mix of energetic German cheer and serious samurai focus, like asking for help with groceries was just as important as saving the world.

Her eyes sparkled with excitement, oblivious to the surreal nature of her request.

Zombies? Apocalypse? Nah—the sushi delivery was top priority.