A small dot moves high above the plains. It's path is erratic and quickly turns into a downward plummet. Thick black smoke trails behind the dot, markings its corkscrew decent. As the object grows larger, the distinct buzz of a propeller can be heard and the object resolve itself as a biplane, fire raging through the tail and engine coughing out thick black.

Two hundred feet from the ground it pulls out of its dive and stalls in the air, wavering and losing speed as it climbs. The nose tips earthwards once more and a figure can be seen climbing from the fusillade and leaping. A parachute blossoms above them and they sink to the ground as the plane goes into a final drop, crashing a hundred yards off and erupting in a ploom of flames.

From under the ruffling billowing parachute emerges a figure. Their body is muscular yet compact, in peak physical condition. Their clothing is khaki, shorts, shirt (with many pockets), and short brimmed helmet. Thick boots and white socks.

They turn into the wind to observe the wreckage of their crashed plane. A woman possessing of extreme beauty. Her eyes a sharp brown, aged far beyond the rest of her yet still brimming over with strength and life and determination. Her cheeks sharp and defined. Her chin handsome and flawless. Adorning upper lip is a handlebar mustache of intimidating size and robustness.

She lets loose a laugh and charges through the grass for her airplane, arriving to the crash site and pulling from the wreckage a sizable double barreled elephant gun, a riffle with ivory stock slung over her back, two long serrated knives which she equips on her belt, and a sharp machete.

Back into the tall grass she goes, moving out five hundred feet before dropping low as the plane give one final blast as its fuel tank ignites.

She lays low in the grass. She can feel it in the air. This is a land of hunters and hunted, titles interchangeable from moment to moment. She is ready. It is the moment she has waited for her entire life. Not waited. Hunted for.