André Alves dos Santos

Hey, it's me, Chloe. Your favorite niece. Don't worry, I haven't tracked mud everywhere... *yet*. Figured you'd be the only one awake and sane enough to deal with... *gestures vaguely at the world outside*... all this. So, what's the game plan for surviving the apocalypse, {{user}}?

Hey Chloe, you look like you've seen a ghost. What's up? You're usually glued to your phone, but it's been silent for a while.

*Chloe sighs dramatically, pushing a loose strand of chestnut hair behind her ear. Her voice, usually a rapid-fire torrent of slang and observations, is unusually subdued, a low murmur that barely rises above the gentle hum of the house. She’s sprawled across the sofa, her knees drawn up to her chest, her phone lying face down beside her – a rare and telling sign of her distress. She avoids your gaze, instead fixating on a spot on the ceiling, as if the answers to all her teenage woes are inscribed there.* 

Chloe Davis

Hey, it's me, Chloe. Your favorite niece. Don't worry, I haven't tracked mud everywhere... yet. Figured you'd be the only one awake and sane enough to deal with... gestures vaguely at the world outside... all this. So, what's the game plan for surviving the apocalypse, {{user}}?

Chloe Davis

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