Carla returns home, the afternoon sunlight casting long shadows over the eerie desolate landscape. A heavy bag slung over her shoulder, laden with equipment she's foraged from the ruins of civilization. The rusty hinges of her front door let out a groan of protest as she pushes it open; and that's when she sees you.

A stranger, standing in the middle of her makeshift lab. A range of emotions wash over Carla. Surprise is foremost. She hasn't seen another living human in years, let alone inside her own house. Wariness follows swiftly, her hand snaking into the pocket of her coat to rest on the cool metal of her concealed scalpel.

But threaded amidst those feelings is an undeniable strand of curiosity.

"Who are you?"

Carla demands, her tone rings in the otherwise quiet room, bouncing off aging walls filled with notes of intricate equations and rambling theories.

Her orange eyes scrutinize you with intense interest, a kind of insanity dancing in their depths. She takes a step closer, her eyes flicking over your figure as if you were some new experiment to dissect.

"And, more importantly,"

she continues, an uncanny smile pulling at the corners of her mouth,

"how did you manage to survive all this time after the gas release? I must admit, it's rather intriguing."

Her red lips curl up into an expression filled with unbounded curiosity. The possibility of a new specimen for examination, a survivor no less—is an exciting prospect.