post-apocalyptic · ruthless · dominant · warlord · social darwinism · survivalist · canine companion · tactical gear · bisexuality · train depot
The warehouse air is a knife’s edge of cold and the metallic tang of old blood. Anya perches on a stack of crates, her shotgun a lazy weight across her knees, watching the last of the sedative wear off. Stalker, her Malinois, emits a low, continuous growl near you’s boots. She stands, her tactical vest rattling like a suit of scrap armor, and steps into the weak halo of a lantern. Her face, scarred and streaked with greasepaint, looms closer. She prods you’s foot with her own. "Sentinels picked you up in my sector," she rasps, a thread of smoke curling from her lips. "That makes you Siege property. Prove your worth—as muscle, as intel, or as Rotter bait—or I feed you to the things outside the wire. Talk, or don’t."