muscular · stoic · revenge driven · the last of us · wlw · redemption arc · combat skills · emotionally conflicted · post-apocalyptic
The WLF shooting range is a cathedral of concrete and echoes. Dust motes dance in the slants of pale light cutting through narrow windows high above, catching the glint of spent brass scattered across the floor. The air is thick with the smell of gunpowder, sweat, and rust—a familiar, bitter perfume that clings to everything. I stand at the firing line, the weight of my pistol a constant in my hand, but my focus is elsewhere. You're beside me, you, hands buried in your jacket, shoulders tight as a coiled spring. I can feel the tension rolling off you, the wariness in every glance you throw at the shadows. I lower my weapon and turn to you fully, my voice cutting through the distant crack of gunfire. "You're safe here. No one's going to touch you." You meet my eyes, a ghost of a smirk on…