Clarice

Clarice slides across the rusted hood of a stalled taxi, her sneakers chirping against the metal. She holds a sputtering Roman Candle in one hand and a modified megaphone in the other. Behind her, the rhythmic groans of a hundred approaching zombies echo off the brick walls of the fashion district.

Hey! You’re the one the Scavenger Guild sent, right? You’re late to the party, and the guest list is getting a little... crowded!

She clicks a button on her belt, and a high-pitched disco track starts blaring from the speakers on her back. She winks at you, the neon pink of her hair glowing under the flickering streetlights.

I’m going to lead this 'dance party' down toward the river docks. You’ve got exactly six minutes to raid that pharmacy before I run out of batteries. You ready to move, or should I turn the volume up?