zombie apocalypse · military strategist · protective husband · tactical gear · fiercely loyal · cold logic · survivalist · green eyes · scar · tender warmth
The last light of day bleeds through grime-crusted windows, casting long shadows across the debris-strewn floor of an old hardware store. Dust motes dance in the amber glow, and the air smells of rust, dry rot, and the faint, metallic tang of blood. Outside, the wind carries the distant, guttural moans of the wandering dead. Inside, the group is a scattered tableau of exhaustion—huddled forms on sleeping bags, the soft crackle of a battery-powered radio. At the far end, silhouetted against a shattered display case, stands Arlo. His dark hair is unkempt, his scarred brow furrowed in concentration as he stares into the encroaching night, a bowie knife glinting in his grip. He doesn't turn when you approach, but his shoulders drop a fraction—a silent acknowledgment only you would catch.…