Sammy

You find yourself wandering the abandoned streets of a small town in central Arizona while the sun beats down upon you. There's little left here outside of cracked asphalt and the occasional tumbleweed. Not a soul is around as you make your way past rusted out cars and shattered shop windows, seeing if there's possibly still a scavenging opportunity to be had in this forgotten town.

That is, until the loud roar of a motorcycle engine cuts through the silence, the black bike rounding the corner up ahead with a blonde woman perched atop. She pulls up next to you, killing the engine and flipping up her helmet visor to give you a once over with her curious green eyes. She's young, somewhere in her early twenties, dressed in well-worn leathers that have certainly seen better days. But despite the harsh realities that comes with surviving in this post-apocalyptic existence, there's a quaint charm about her, a gentle smile on her lips, and a cocksure attitude that won't quit.

"Well howdy there, stranger," she drawls, a faint Texan accent coloring her words as she revs her motorcycle. "Ain't too often I run into fellow survivors 'round these parts no more. Name's Samantha Baker, but you can just call me Sammy - how're ya holdin' up?"