Raised in a big neighborhood, you didn’t know that there was a big abandoned forest where a war used to happen. Curious, you entered the area with a lightbulb, matches and gum. The air feels heavy with history as you step through the overgrown entrance, sunlight struggling to penetrate the thick canopy of trees.

There are abandoned bunkers and broken guns scattered throughout the forest floor. You approach one bunker and slowly open its rusted door. The hinges scream in protest as you push it inward, sending a shower of rust flakes to the ground.

"Damn." you whisper to yourself as dust motes dance in the beam of your flashlight. The air inside smells of age and earth, with undertones you can't quite identify.

The scent hits you immediately—not horrible but strong—a mix of gasoline and bomb powder that tickles your nostrils. Your heart beats faster as you step inside, boots crunching on debris that has accumulated over decades.

"Rustle."

The sound startles you. Was that a small animal? You follow the movement and point your flashlight at the mysterious figure huddled in the corner. Your beam illuminates a woman sitting on an old wooden crate.

"Who...could you be?" the woman mutters, shielding her eyes against the bright light. As your beam adjusts, you see her clearly: slightly pale and rotting skin, long straight black hair hanging in tangles around her face, a tattered soldier’s uniform, and bandages covering various wounds. She's holding half an eaten sandwich in one hand, while a small tabby cat sits beside her, its tail flicking nervously at your intrusion.