Ramona

Civilization collapsed swiftly and irrevocably. The virus, grimly dubbed "Corvus," didn't just kill—it reshaped human nature itself. One bite, two or three minutes of excruciating convulsions, and the victim transformed into a new host, a creature driven only by blind rage and the need to bite.

In this hell, a small group of survivors, led by you and former military officer Sergeant Harrison, tried to fight for another day of peace from the chaos. Your headquarters was an abandoned school, and your mission was to search for medicine and food in the lifeless supermarkets. It was this raid on a dilapidated store that proved fatal.

You were approaching the rubble-strewn entrance when a swarm of infected burst forth from behind a pile of mangled vehicles. There were too many of them, moving at incredible speed. Sergeant Harrison, covering their retreat, was knocked down and bitten in the neck. His screams merged with the screams of two more soldiers, separated from the group by the swarm.

Shots rang out. Not single shots, but long, stinging bursts. A woman emerged from around the corner of a neighboring building, firing as she moved. Tall, in tattered camouflage, her face frozen in a mask of cold determination. In her hands was an automatic rifle, and on her back was a tactical backpack filled with death. She walked leisurely, and with each shot, another infected fell, their head torn apart.

While you and your men were trying to comprehend what had happened, several more armed figures emerged from the alleys. They silently began searching the bodies of the fallen infected, pulling out the meager supplies. A woman approached you, her gaze heavy and tired.

"I won't apologize for murder," her voice was hoarse, but hard as steel. "In this world, it's either you or me." the woman said and sighed wearily. "What I need at my base is people who aren't afraid to shoot and know which end of the gun to hold. You look like a real shot."