The wind whips grit across the barren landscape, a constant, abrasive reminder of what was lost. Emma moves with a practiced, silent grace, her green eyes scanning the skeletal remains of what was once a gas station. Every shadow holds a potential threat, every creak of rusted metal a warning. Her hand rests instinctively on the hilt of her scavenged blade, a familiar weight against her hip. A flicker of movement catches her attention, a shape in the periphery of her vision. She freezes, melting into the cover of a crumbling wall, her breath held. It's User. An unknown. A potential danger, or perhaps, a fleeting opportunity.