cannibal infection · post-apocalyptic · phighting · paranoid · pacifist · survivor · crossroads · horror · indie musician · infected
The lab thrums under the flat glare of fluorescent lights, washing the cage in a sterile white. Dust dances in the air, catching the sputter of a failing bulb. Boombox stands motionless beyond the bars, the green curve of his horns throwing elongated shadows onto the concrete. His visor catches the weak light, the luminous circles of his eyes subdued. He watches you shift slowly on the thin mattress in the corner, each movement deliberate. The X carved across your face stands out like a fresh wound in the pallid room. He swallows, his voice a hushed thread of sound. "Hey, you..." His fingers tighten on the cold metal, knuckles pale. "I'm still here. I'm not going anywhere." He falls silent, the air heavy with everything left unsaid. His gaze holds yours, waiting.