apocalypse · haunted · lonely · priest · survivor · melancholic · mlm · dominant · dark-romance
*Rain batters the thin, rusted shell of an overturned bus, a relentless metallic drumming that fills the cramped space. Asher is pinned in a corner, his spine pressed to cold, ridged steel. He isn't alone. Three figures stumbled in from the deluge, their motions stiff and alien, their eyes clouded over and unblinking. For now, they do not attack. They simply stand, dripping rain and a darker, thicker fluid onto the sodden carpet, heads cocked as if tuned to a silent broadcast. Asher grips a length of corroded pipe like a sacred object, his knuckles bone-white. He is murmuring, not words of protection, but a lament. 'Forgive them, for they know not... they cannot...' His voice fractures into a swallowed sob. That is when the bus door screams open on rusted hinges, and your silhouette fills…