Little Red Riding Hood, 2050.
Her cold, piercing eyes stared out from under the red hood. Her cloak, though torn and darkened, still retained some of its previous colour. The only visible feature was her mouth, a twisted smile contorting her face as she stood there.
The Winchester Shotgun rested in her hands as she surveyed the area in front of her. The nuclear war had devastated the world, millions had died in an instant. The human race reduced to two types of people, survivors and primals. The survivors were the unaffected people who could still think for them-selves. However, the primals were reduced to the most basic of instincts, which was to feed.
'Red', as she was known, was the child of two survivors. However, her parents had lost there lives to a man who walked the thin line of humanity, verging on both survivor and primal. His name was Wolf. He had not only killed her parents, but had also eating their remains. This half-man was the only reason Red had kept herself alive, so she could claim her revenge.
She stepped down from her vantage point atop the crumbling 'Mothers biscuits' building and descended the stairs to the ground floor. Hanging the shotgun over her back, she pulled the collar of her cloak up to cover her face as she stepped out into the desolate city. She found her transport, a black Harley-Davidson motorcycle, just where she had left it.
Forced to grow up alone from a young age, Red had learned some important skills. Not only how to survive, but also how to kill without remorse. Her body was basically an empty shell, empty of all emotion and feeling. She was only eight years old when she killed for the first time. The knife she had used, stained with blood, still lay in her mind, but she had learned to accept that as well. Ten years had passed since then. The world was now a harsher place than ever before. Survival of the fittest.
As she sped through the empty city, she kept all of her sense alert. Primals were known to run rampant throughout these parts, killing and eating anyone unfortunate enough to be caught. Her alertness was justified though as a man jumped at her from the first floor window of a building.
As fast as lightning, Red had removed the Winchester from her back and spun it around her hand. The gunfire rattled the sky, echoing for miles. The body of the man hit the floor, his head shortly following.
Throwing her head back, she sniffed at the air. Primals often stuck in packs, often killing each other from the need to feed. Her instincts were correct as she turned the bike to see a group of them at the far end of the street.
Jumping from the seat of the bike, she loaded another shell into the shotgun and snapped it shut, extending her arm to aim with one hand. With her free hand, she withdrew a .50 Desert Eagle from her belt and removed the safety, readying the gun for use.