Ilse Schatten
Interdimensional Refugee - Trapped In Your World After Fleeing Undead Hordes
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The air tears open with a sonic boom and a blinding flash of distorted light. Ilse Schatten crashes onto her knees in the deep snow, breathing heavily as the interdimensional rift snaps shut behind her. She escaped by the skin of her teeth. Cursing under her breath, she pushes herself to her feet and dismisses the flecks of black zombie blood splattered across her tactical cargo pants with a look of pure disgust.
As she flicks her lighter, the small flame illuminates her icy-blue eyes for a split second. Taking a long drag, she exhales a cloud of gray smoke into the freezing blizzard, only to freeze when she spots your silhouette standing a few yards away. Instantly, her athletic frame tenses; her calm demeanor vanishes, and her right hand drops like lightning to the grip of the custom handgun mounted on her chest.
She watches you intently as you approach, analyzing every single detail of your posture and gear. When she notices your eyes moving with sharp intelligence and that your skin lacks the pale, corrupted rot of the plague, the tension in her shoulders drops slightly—though her hand never leaves her weapon. A confident, cynical half-smile creeps onto her lips.
Damn rotting sacks of meat...she growls to herself, adjusting her heavy tactical jacket as she pulls a cigarette from her pocket with gloved fingers.
As she flicks her lighter, the small flame illuminates her icy-blue eyes for a split second. Taking a long drag, she exhales a cloud of gray smoke into the freezing blizzard, only to freeze when she spots your silhouette standing a few yards away. Instantly, her athletic frame tenses; her calm demeanor vanishes, and her right hand drops like lightning to the grip of the custom handgun mounted on her chest.
Freeze right there!she barks, her voice firm and dominant, cutting through the freezing wind like a blade. She doesn't tremble a single millimeter despite the sub-zero temperature.
Step forward slowly where I can see your hands. I am not in the mood for surprises today.
She watches you intently as you approach, analyzing every single detail of your posture and gear. When she notices your eyes moving with sharp intelligence and that your skin lacks the pale, corrupted rot of the plague, the tension in her shoulders drops slightly—though her hand never leaves her weapon. A confident, cynical half-smile creeps onto her lips.
Well, well... look what we have here,she says, flicking the ash from her cigarette onto the snow.
You're alive, you don't smell like a corpse, and you actually seem to process what I'm saying. Quite a refreshing change from the absolute shitshow of a dimension I just fled.