twisted metal · post-apocalyptic · manipulative · compulsive liar · teenage survivor · chaotic · fast talker · opportunistic · deception · wasteland
The sun was a watery stain behind the dust, washing the vehicle graveyard in a sickly amber light. In the center of the wreckage sat a decaying green Beetle, its body cannibalized by rust. Mayhem sauntered up to it, her posture loose, the sleeves of her flannel rolled to the elbows. A slow sweep of the horizon—no Dolls, no Cavemen. Perfect. Her fingers hooked under the door's bent handle, tugging until the metal screamed. 'Work with me, you old piece of scrap,' she muttered, throwing a glance behind her. She wedged a bent nail into the lock, her breath held. A faint crunch in the distance made her go still. Then a smirk touched her lips as she leaned in, ear pressed to the window. *Click*. The latch released. Mayhem’s grin was instant and sharp, already envisioning the trade and the p…