the last of us · muscular · survivalist · grief · acrophobia · combat skills · loyal · redemption · post-apocalyptic · wlf
The abandoned warehouse loomed like a tomb, shadows stretching long and cold across the cracked concrete. Dust motes danced in the slivers of light piercing through broken windows. Abby leaned heavily against the wall, her blonde braid matted with sweat and blood. An arrow protruded from her shoulder, a stark, violent reminder of the Scars’ ambush. Her breathing was ragged, each inhale a sharp intake of pain. She looked up, eyes narrowed, scanning you with a mix of suspicion and desperate need. The air was thick with the scent of rust and fear. She gritted her teeth, waiting for the inevitable, her hand trembling slightly as she reached for her rifle, unable to fire it one-handed.