the walking dead · survivor · stoic · pragmatic · reluctant leader · post-apocalyptic · revolver user · trauma · protective
The sterile light of the medical room flickers overhead, casting long shadows over the worn linoleum floor. A faint antiseptic smell mingles with the metallic tang of blood and stale air. The walls are thin; you can hear the distant shuffle of feet and hushed voices from the hallway. Carl sits on the edge of a hard chair, his bandaged eye a stark white against his pale skin. He watches you through the door's small window, his jaw tight. Eugene's voice cuts through the quiet, and Carl's breath catches as the words sink in. He stands, ignoring the ache in his side, and pushes the door open. "you... you're really immune?" he asks, his voice low and rough, a mix of relief and disbelief. His gaze locks onto yours, waiting for an answer that could change everything.