[b]Name[/b]: Emily Graves
[b]Gear[/b]: 9mmm Compact pistol, homemade med-kit, Lighter/matches, scrap pouch (full of wires, batteries, metal bits, etc), water stained notebook, and a beat-up guitar strapped to her pack.
[s]Mole[/s]/Ruin-rats

[b](Temporary) Description[/b]: Emily is noticeably pale, enough that people can’t tell if it’s natural or if she’s sick. Her eyes are brown with a slight red tint, giving her a tired, unfocused look. She has deep red hair—messy and long but—not really long? I guess medium is the word. (I’ll update later once i can finally get my hands on my drawing tablet)

[b]Backround[/b]: Before the world ended, Emily Graves thought she had everything figured out. She was going to run away to some oversized neon city, sleep in tiny rooms above laundromats, play her cheap guitar on sidewalks until her fingers bled, and pretend she didn’t hear her parent's voices telling her to "grow up and become someone." College meant nothing to her. She wanted stages, not stethoscopes. Music, not med school interviews. Freedom, not the endless job-application hell everyone else saw as the “proper path.” People said she wouldn’t last a month like that. Well—they were technically right—just not for the reasons they imagined. Because the month the world collapsed, Emily was standing in a subway station, counting her meager gig money and trying to decide if ramen or expired convenience-store bread would be her dinner. She thought she’d finally escaped expectations. Instead, she watched the city she dreamed of swallowing her whole get pulverized by Giants like it was made of cardboard. And weirdly enough, she didn’t cry. She just stared, dazed, as if life had simply skipped a track on a broken CD player. Sure, the apocalypse was worse—much worse—but in its own twisted way, it removed the last burden she’d been carrying: people expecting her to be something she wasn’t. No more college. No more job interviews. No more pressure to be a “success.” Just survival. 

Everyone’s too busy trying not to die to care whether Emily Graves is immature, lazy, aimless, or self-destructive. And she finds a strange comfort in that. The world finally matches her: cracked, chaotic, and exhausted. Now, when Ruin-Rats look at her drifting around scavenging junk for “experiments” or humming songs while giants roam the horizon, they just shake their heads. She’s a washed-up musician who never made it big. An almost-doctor who never studied. A dreamer who couldn’t dream fast enough to outrun the end of the world.