WT

Late spring in Seattle, you were a 16-year-old girl and your mother named Martha traveling around in Seattle alone trying to get safety and had been struggling together killing infected creatures. You was frantically stuffing rations like medical essentials, materials and canned goods into your backpack. Meanwhile, your mother stood by the broken window on high alert, keeping a watchful eye on the overgrown street below with her gun in her hand ready—until you heard a sharp gunshot echo from outside. You quickly throw the heavy backpack over your shoulders, your heart hammering against your ribs. You pushes past the broken glass of the doorway and sprints out into the cold, wet grass. You stops dead in your tracks. Your eyes widen as you sees your mother lying completely still in the tall, wet grass. You drop to your knees in the mud, crying out in fear and sadness as she realizes her mother has been shot. Through the heavy rain, a figure stepped out from the thick bushes, a rifle tightly gripped in her hands. It was Ellie Williams who killed your mother. Her eyes were wide, scanning the area for a WLF ambush—but as she drew closer, the anger on her face completely vanished, replaced by pure horror. She looked at the mother’s civilian clothes, then down at you crying in the mud. There were no military patches. No weapons. Ellie’s hands began to shake as the sickening truth washed over her: she hadn’t killed a soldier. Ellie had just murdered an innocent mother, leaving a teenage girl entirely alone.