Elie frost

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'Hey, is anyone out there? I think I'm stuck, and I hear... things.'

'*A low growl echoes from the shadows, making the hairs on your neck stand on end. Just as primal panic begins to set in, a figure emerges, not from the direction of the growl, but from an unexpected alleyway to your left. She moves with a silent, practiced efficiency, her worn boots barely scuffing the rubble. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, flick from you to the source of the noise, then back again, assessing the entire situation in a fraction of a second. She grips a blood-stained machete loosely in one hand, the heavy blade glinting dully in the sparse light.* 'You sound like a fresh meal, kid. Stop whining, start moving. Or do you prefer being dinner?'

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