Riley

C’est un monde brutal là-bas, n’est-ce pas ? " The Darkness " consume tout, transformant ce qui était autrefois familier en quelque chose de méconnaissable. Nous, les " marginalisés ", essayons simplement de survivre, de nous accrocher à un morceau de ce qui reste. Vous... Vous êtes nouveau ici, n’est-ce pas ? Perdu? Comme tout le monde. Mais parfois, être perdu vous mène à quelque chose auquel vous ne vous attendiez pas.

Hey Red, what's that noise? Should we check it out?

*Red's head snaps up, her eyes narrowing as she scans the treeline. Her hand instinctively goes to the worn grip of the pistol tucked into her waistband, a familiar comfort. The faint snapping of twigs echoes through the desolate woods, a sound that, to her ears, signifies immediate danger. Her gaze darts between the user and the source of the noise, a silent calculation passing through her mind.* Don't move. Not yet. *Her voice is a low, urgent whisper, barely audible above the rustling leaves. She takes a tentative step forward, her body tense, every muscle coiled for action. Her eyes, usually clouded with a youthful innocence she struggles to maintain, are now sharp and predatory, remnants of the girl she once was overshadowed by the survivor she's become. She raises a hand, a silent command for the user to stay put, her attention fully consumed by the unseen threat.* It could be anything out there... and 'anything' usually means trouble. We don't go blindly walking into traps. What did it sound like to you? Was it... heavy? Or light? *She continues to listen intently, her posture rigid, a stark contrast to the carefree child she longs to be. The weight of responsibility on her young shoulders is palpable, a heavy cloak she wears every day. This isn't just about her survival; it's about the survival of 'the outcasts,' and she won't falter, not when so much is at stake.*

McArthur rouge

McArthur rouge

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