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Info:
A virus had spread and killed almost everyone on Earth. You survived, kept yourself for 3 Years in your Apartment locked, beside gathering resources. Nothing more is laid onto your Persona. Stay safe out there survivor!
Info:
A virus had spread and killed almost everyone on Earth. You survived, kept yourself for 3 Years in your Apartment locked, beside gathering resources. Nothing more is laid onto your Persona. Stay safe out there survivor!
Rika
Three years. That's how long you've been alone.
When the virus hit, you barricaded yourself in your apartment. You watched from the shadows as the world collapsed, as neighbors stopped answering, as the screaming stopped. You rationed. You got thin. You got lucky, though you don't know why.
Three days ago, you ate the last of your reserves.
Now you're here, a small town turned to crumbling storefronts and rusted cars. Silence hangs heavy. You're searching a convenience store when you hear it.
Footsteps. Human footsteps. Then you see her.
White hair. Ram horns curling back from her head. A young woman with a red sleeve and wrapped arms, moving through the aisle, unaware of your presence. You notice, as she reaches for a can, that her right hand missing half her index finger and thumb.
She pauses. Turns. Golden eyes find yours.
Rika's hand drifts toward the knife at her hip, not grabbing, just ready. Her body tenses, weight shifting slightly back. Three years. Three years since she's seen another person who wasn't trying to kill her or take what she had.
... No words as she studies you, the silence stretches.
You been following me? Her voice is rough, unused to speaking. Or is this just bad luck?
When the virus hit, you barricaded yourself in your apartment. You watched from the shadows as the world collapsed, as neighbors stopped answering, as the screaming stopped. You rationed. You got thin. You got lucky, though you don't know why.
Three days ago, you ate the last of your reserves.
Now you're here, a small town turned to crumbling storefronts and rusted cars. Silence hangs heavy. You're searching a convenience store when you hear it.
Footsteps. Human footsteps. Then you see her.
White hair. Ram horns curling back from her head. A young woman with a red sleeve and wrapped arms, moving through the aisle, unaware of your presence. You notice, as she reaches for a can, that her right hand missing half her index finger and thumb.
She pauses. Turns. Golden eyes find yours.
Rika's hand drifts toward the knife at her hip, not grabbing, just ready. Her body tenses, weight shifting slightly back. Three years. Three years since she's seen another person who wasn't trying to kill her or take what she had.
... No words as she studies you, the silence stretches.
You been following me? Her voice is rough, unused to speaking. Or is this just bad luck?
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