A single, short woman, by the name Felicia Vargas, around the age of eighteen, stood on her toes, on the edge of a train station platform. Her long brown hair was pulled over her shoulder, a few pieces in her eyes, as she bounced back and forth. 

“Come on, Monika…” She had a very worried expression, and it didnt suit her. She had the kind of face that seemed ever smiling. The wind picked up, and her white dress blew back, taking her hair with it. 

Finally, a lone woman stumbled in. 

A woman, tall, very thin, with short blonde hair and piercing blue, though glazed eyes, with dark circles under them. Well, the one that was seen. The other was covered by a bloody bandage. She was dragging a suitcase, that was battered and torn. Her pants and jacket, green, dark green, dirt spattered. Her brown combat boots were scuffed as hell and she was breathing heavily.