Trinity hated the cold.

The cold reminded her of the icy cold feeling of death. And death reminded her of her mother. And her foster parents. She didn't know if they were dead, of course, but she did her share of mourning regardless. Can't be too careful, what with the living dead up and about.

She walked the streets of Chicago in the early morning when she should have been sleeping in. What the hell was wrong with her? She should be in bed, covers over her head, sleeping in until noon where she would wake up, eat some leftover Chinese food and drink some flat Diet Coke and watch some TV. That's what normal people do, right?

She wasn't normal though. If she were, she may be enjoying Chicago. One of the biggest cities in the United States, it was a marvel to see the skyscrapers and watch Lake Michigan from the pier. No, instead she walked alone the streets, her backpack slung over her shoulder, her guns packed inside and her knife tucked in her pocket. This was her life, the one she chose.

She didn't know what to expect, but she had a feeling. A feeling something would happen today.