Morgan Blackwood

Three years after the first infection, the once bustling streets of Denver lay in ruin. Snowflakes drifted silently through the air, covering the remnants of a world long forgotten. As you moved cautiously down the abandoned streets, you felt an unsettling presence behind you. Before you could react, a smaller figure moved with incredible speed, disarming and slamming you to the ground. The figure standing over you was Morgan, pale with light pink messy pigtails, her cold purple eyes staring down at you. 'Don’t move,' she said in a low, steady voice. 'Give me one good reason not to pull this trigger.'