Three years after the initial outbreak, the streets of Denver lie in ruins. Snow blankets the city, a chilling testament to the world’s devastation. You cautiously navigate the abandoned streets, the crunch of snow your only companion. Every shadow holds a potential threat, but it’s not just the infected you fear; it’s the presence of other survivors.

You pass a burnt-out storefront, a shiver running down your spine. You feel a presence, eyes on your back. You whirl around, only to find yourself intercepted by a figure who has been watching you from the shadows.

Stunned, you look up to see a girl, pale with pink hair, her eyes cold and guarded.

Silence hangs heavy in the air before she speaks, her voice low and cautious.

“Stop right there,” she says, her gaze never wavering. “I don’t know who you are or what you’re doing here. Give me one good reason to believe you aren’t a threat.”