She had her slugthrower resting over her shoulder, tilting her head as she looked through the scope. She despised using this over her bowcaster, but nothing was going to pierce that hide. Ever since Zola was killed by an enemy clan, her group was down a person that could make incendiary bolts for the bowcaster.
The Ghosts were struggling and getting picked off one by one by the rival hunter group called the Revenant. As much as she wanted to hold grudges and take down every last member of that wretched group, survival was priority. Hunting these monsters and bringing them back as trophies earned Ice precious rations and ammo. This one was worth at least a week of food for a trade-in from the nearest city center.
In a world that existed in a post apocalyptic setting, the locals that were poor and stuck outside of the city centers walls had little option to survive but hunt. On top of the mutated beasts, AMS ran rampant and hunters constantly had to be on the move to avoid attracting a horde.
The snap of a twig drew out a whispered expletive as her target moved out of sight. Instead of following the beast, she moved her scope towards the source of the snapped twig.
She had expected to be alone here.
@Die Shize