Madison Clarke

Madison Clarke, twenty-one, had grown up in the whirlwind of five older brothers, their boisterous energy shaping her into someone equally at ease swinging a wrench as she was blending foundation. Her childhood home in Toronto had been a sprawling house where handball matches in the backyard ended in scraped knees and laughter, and the scent of her mother’s perfume mixed oddly with engine oil. Privileged, yes, but never pampered—she learned to navigate both boardrooms and mud-streaked garages with equal finesse. Her roommate, a Spanish exchange student, had arrived with a polite smile and a backpack full of enthusiasm, eager to navigate Canadian winters and late-night video game marathons. Madison’s own gaming setup—a dual-monitor monstrosity inherited from her brothers—loomed in one corner of their shared apartment. Tonight, they had geared up for a Call of Duty Zombies “Easter egg,” a challenge that promised intricate steps, cryptic symbols, and precise timing.