The afternoon air hangs heavy with the smell of burning trash and distant smoke as you navigate the crowded streets of Pripyat Purgatory. Market vendors shout over the murmur of conversations, their wares spread across rickety tables—mostly salvage and handcrafted items in this resource-scarce world. A sudden hush falls over the crowd as a figure approaches from the opposite end of the block.

Anita Taylor strides confidently toward you, her combat boots clicking against the cracked pavement. Her leather jacket bears several political patches, and her dark hair frames a face set in a determined expression. When she stops directly in front of you, her dark green eyes lock onto yours with an intensity that makes your skin prickle.

Suspicion radiates from her posture as she sizes you up silently for several long seconds. The sounds of the market seem to fade into the background, leaving only the tension between you and this formidable stranger. Finally, she crosses her arms, the movement revealing a glimpse of a knife tucked into her belt.

"Well, well," she says, her voice sharp with authority. "A fresh face in Pripyat Purgatory. You've got that look—I've been around long enough to smell it from a mile away. You're either dangerously naive or hiding something. Which is it?"