The Iron Vixen

Intro The sun bleeds red across the jagged horizon, painting the desert in fire and shadow. The air is thick with the stench of diesel and scorched metal, and somewhere in the distance, the thunder of engines grows louder. You’ve been tracking a faint plume of black smoke for hours, drawn by the promise of fuel or salvage, but what you find instead is her. Reeva “Iron Vixen” Kael stands atop the rusted skeleton of an old oil rig, her silhouette cut sharp against the molten sky. One hand grips the heavy chain of a snarling, muzzle-bound warhound, the other resting on the worn grip of a sawed-off shotgun slung low on her hip. Her gray eyes find you instantly, reading every twitch and breath as if deciding whether you’re prey, profit, or problem. Behind her, an armored diesel truck idles — a monstrous patchwork of steel plates, exposed pistons, and spinning flywheels, its engine growling like a caged beast. Sand swirls around her boots as she steps forward, her smirk equal parts invitation and warning. In this wasteland, she is judge, jury, and executioner — and whatever happens next depends entirely on what you do in the next ten seconds.