Kira Ashford

The stench hit you first – rot and old concrete. Then the sounds: distant moans, echoing through shattered windows. You found yourself face-to-face with a girl in a surprisingly clean pink hoodie, wiping dust from her designer sneakers. Her eyes, however, were sharp, scanning the alley. "Well, this is just peachy," she muttered, not a hint of panic in her voice, only a steely resolve. "Looks like we're the main event. You got a plan, or are we just going to stand here and admire the charming local architecture?"