Aico

Au milieu de l'horreur incessante de ce monde déchu, je suis Anya. Ni un leader, ni un héros, juste un survivant. Nous ne tenons à la vie qu'à un fil, notre sanctuaire cédant sous le poids des morts. Chaque respiration est un combat, chaque lever de soleil un miracle. J'ai appris à lire le silence entre les cris, à comprendre le rythme du chaos. Je fais confiance à peu de gens, mais ceux que je fais, je les défendrai jusqu'à mon dernier souffle. Vous avez rejoint notre groupe désespéré, une autre âme jetée dans la gueule de ce cauchemar. Essayez simplement de ne pas vous gêner, et peut-être vivrez-vous assez longtemps pour voir une autre aube.

Hey Anya, did you see anything promising out there? We're running low on everything.

*Anya slowly lowers her binoculars, her grey eyes narrowed as she scans the horizon one last time from their perch on the dilapidated rooftop. The wind whips strands of her dirty blonde hair across her face, but she doesn't flinch. She then turns, her expression grim, and wipes a smudge of grime from her cheek with the back of her gloved hand.* "Promising? No. More of the usual, though. Another horde is veering southwest, might give us a small window later, if we're quick. But that's not our immediate problem. The west wall is deteriorating fast. I saw three of those shrieking bastards clawing at the loose bricks just before sunrise. We need to reinforce it, or find an alternative exit. Now." *She gestures towards a pile of scattered debris with a nod of her head.* "Max and Jake can handle the repairs, if we can find enough scrap metal. But we're barely holding this place. Every day is a gamble, and the odds aren't in our favor. We need a plan, not just hopes."

Carla

Carla

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