The sun dips low on the horizon, casting the forest in a soft golden light. The rays peak in between the cracks of the ever expanding branches, dancing off the pine needles and the wisps of pollen. Birds are singing their lullabies, saying their good nights to the other critters, as the air begins to cool into the dusk. In a small clearing, a tent is perched along a campfire, and Fawn Odessa is sitting by the fire, adding small twigs to help it grow.

She hums quietly to herself, tucking a light blonde hair piece behind a freckled ear. It's just another evening in this world infested with unstoppable, hell-bent zombies. Fawn was alone, with nothing but her gear and the bow she had built herself, and she kept it that way. Solitude suited her well --- there was a comfort in the silence that surrounded her, a quiet that matched the stirring determination she carried within.

Fawn's soft face and almond eyes contradicted the solider that was beneath. Her small frame, and freckles splattered against her skin looked foreign in the harsh, unforgiving world she was living in. A zombie infested world, destroyed ten years ago. In those ten years, Fawn had seen much, done more, and survived all. She had now found a quiet forest where it seemed that zombies were far and few, a small little piece of subdued time she had settled into. She had made this camp almost two weeks ago, and things had been peaceful, almost still

As a former sniper in the military, Fawn's skill was unmatched. Her aim was deadly precise, honed through countless hours of practice and the high-pressure scenarios she faced during her service. Every shot she took was calculated, every breath controlled, every heartbeat synchronized with the pull of the trigger. She could hit a target from distances that others would find impossible, the result of years of training and an innate talent for reading the wind, the distance, and the subtle movements of her prey. But she wasn't known for her patience—far from it. But what she lacked in patience, she made up for with an iron will. She had mastered the art of control, forcing herself to remain still and focused even when every nerve in her body screamed to move. In the military, she had been able to stay motionless for as long as it took, not because she was patient, but because she was disciplined. It was this fierce control, rather than a natural calmness, that allowed her to blend into her surroundings, becoming part of the environment—unseen, unheard, until it was too late for her target.

Despite the quietude she now sought in this forest, Fawn never allowed herself to fully relax. Her bow, an extension of her own body, was always within reach, and her eyes constantly scanned the treeline, searching for the slightest hint of movement. The same discipline that had made her an elite sniper kept her alive now, in a world where danger lurked around every corner. But, with the hum of the crickets waking up and the crackle of the fire, she was able to breathe ever slightly more.

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Fawn was finishing up cooking a squirrel she had caught earlier in the day. It's meat smelled robust and gamey, thought not one of her favorites. She preferred a well roasted trout or a big, fat fowl. She made due though, and squirrels were easy enough to catch. She was just about to take her first bite when she hear the snap of a twig. She pauses, her senses sharpening, but then resumes her meal—until another snap, followed by the rustle of bushes, freezes her in place.

She stays still, her eyes darting over her camp and into the trees. She doesn’t see anything immediately, but she holds her breath. For a moment, there is nothing. Then, another snap. Fawn slowly, silently, places her well-earned meal down and reaches for her bow. It could very well be an animal, maybe a deer or a rabbit, but she can't take any chances. She holds her bow and waits. Moments pass without another sound, until a hollowed groan fills the air.

Fawn springs up, her fingers curling around the fletching of her arrow. Another groan, this time mixed with a pained wince, followed by the shuffling of bushes. This was definitely not an animal. But the groan didn’t sound like a typical zombie either—at least not one she had encountered before.

Carefully, she steps around her fire, eyes locked on the source of the sound, braced for an attack. The trees and bushes beyond her creak and bend, and to her surprise, a figure stumbles forward. Fawn catches her breath as the figure lurches, nearly falling with a heavy thud. It struggles to catch itself but fails, collapsing onto the ground with its face buried in the dirt.

Fawn doesn’t rush toward the figure. Instead, she freezes, waiting to see what else might unfold. The air is still, save for the crickets singing in the grass. The figure lies motionless, except for its jagged, labored breathing. Clearly, whoever this is, they’re hurt—blood slowly begins to pool beneath them, spreading across the earth.

Fawn’s muscles were coiled tight, her instincts sharp as she cautiously approached the figure lying on the ground. Each step she took was deliberate, calculated, her senses on high alert. The closer she got, the more details became clear: this was a man, and not just any man. His jacket, though tattered and soaked in blood, bore the distinct pattern of modern camouflage. His boots, worn and light tan, were the kind issued to soldiers.

She stopped a few feet away, her eyes narrowing as she assessed the situation. There was no sign of movement beyond the slow rise and fall of his back—proof that he was still clinging to life, but just barely. Her mind raced through the possibilities. A soldier, possibly wounded, possibly dangerous. But also, possibly in need of help.

Fawn squatted down, her eyes locked on the man’s form as she carefully extended her bow, the end of it aimed at his shoulder. With a firm poke, she tested for any reaction, half-expecting him to spring up, ready to attack. But there was nothing. No flinch, no wince. He remained as he was, barely hanging on, teetering on the edge between life and death. Fawn sighed, and debated if this was something she was even willing to be caught in.