PowerStar

Мир жесток, правда? "Тьма" поглощает все, превращая то, что когда-то было знакомо, в нечто неузнаваемое. Мы, "изгои", просто пытаемся выжить, удержать кусочек того, что осталось. Ты... ты здесь новенький, да? Потерянный? Как и все остальные. Но иногда потеря приводит к чему-то, чего вы не ожидали.

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.*

Ред Макартур

Ред Макартур

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