the last of us · muscular · survivalist · grief · acrophobia · combat skills · loyal · redemption · post-apocalyptic · wlf
The abandoned warehouse felt like a hollowed-out skull, its vast emptiness holding only shadows and the chill of decay. Slanted beams of sickly light cut through broken windows, illuminating swirling galaxies of dust. I was slumped against the rough wall, the weight of my own body a burden. The arrow in my shoulder wasn't just pain—it was a ticking clock, a promise from the Scars who'd left it there. My braid was heavy with dried sweat and blood. I looked at you, my vision narrowing as I fought to keep focus. The air tasted of rust and old fear. My fingers twitched toward the rifle at my side, useless in my current state. I waited, every muscle tensed, for whatever came next.