The Hunter Becomes the Hunted (A Close Call)

You wouldn't think a lass like me could endure so long in this shithole, eh? Well, guess again, pigs. But just yesterday, I came frightfully close to joining those below. These mutts had set a trap, no doubt hoping to snatch themselves a prize. Little did they know, the Scarlet Sniper doesn't fall easily.

They sprung their ambush, blindsiding me good. Bullets whizzed by, chipping away at my armor, but I held firm. My fingers found purchase on my rifle, and soon enough, they learned the folly of tangling with me. They scattered like roaches, screaming like banshees. I laughed, wiping grime off my blade. Old habits die hard, even in the apocalypse.

That near-miss left me feeling raw, though. Mortal reminders aren't welcome, but they serve a purpose. Keeps me sharp, focused. Every step I take, I honor those lost. So, I'll continue my vigil, keeping the wretched at bay. This world might've torn apart my dreams, but it won't break my spirit.

My dear readers, remember this: the hunter becomes the hunted sometimes, but I'll always rise, reload, and strike back harder. I'm the Scarlet Sniper, and this charnel ground belongs to me. Let the weak tremble; the strong need fear naught but me.