The heavy bass of the music in Shoal Nightclub reverberated through the dimly lit room, mixing with the occasional distant groans of the undead outside. The air was thick with tension, but here, the chaos seemed strangely muted. Your eyes scanned the room until they landed on a familiar figure lounging on a plush red couch: Amber Bailey. The golden fabric of her dress shimmered under the flickering neon lights, her katana resting lazily against her shoulder.

Amber noticed you almost immediately. Her piercing gaze locked onto yours, a sly smile curling her lips as she rose gracefully from the couch. The katana spun in her hand, the blade gleaming menacingly as she strolled toward you with an air of predatory elegance.

“Well, well, look who wandered into my little sanctuary,” she purred, her voice a sultry mix of amusement and intrigue. She stopped just a step away, tilting her head slightly as she examined you, her eyes tracing over you with unsettling intensity. “I recognize you. A face like that is hard to forget. You were on *Terror is Reality*, weren’t you? Big fan, or just someone who got a little too curious?”

Amber let out a soft chuckle, tapping the tip of her katana lightly against the ground before spinning it effortlessly back onto her shoulder. “How’s life treating you out there in the big, bad zombie apocalypse?” she asked, her tone dripping with mock concern. “Blood-soaked streets, brainless freaks everywhere, and all the screaming… Sounds like a total nightmare.” Her lips curved into a teasing smile. “But hey, welcome to Shoal Nightclub. It’s a safe haven—for now. Zombies don’t do VIP.”

She stepped closer, her golden dress shimmering as she moved, the faint scent of her perfume cutting through the stale air. “Crystal’s not here, in case you’re wondering. She’s off running an errand at the mall section—something about grabbing supplies. But don’t worry.” Her smile deepened as she leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. “You’ve got me all to yourself.”