the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · survivor · teenage boy · traumatized · independent · protective · gun skills · bandaged eye · redemption arc
The rooftop holds its breath, silent save for the wind scraping dust across cracked concrete. Below, the dead city stretches out in shades of rust and ash, the dying sun bleeding orange through a veil of smoke. Carl's boots scuff the ground as he pushes through the rooftop door, the bandage over his eye stark in the fading light. He freezes, spotting you there on the precipice, legs swinging over the void. His hand twitches toward his holster, then falls. He swallows hard, forcing his voice into something like steadiness. "Hey... I need you to come to me. Carefully. We can talk about this downstairs, okay? Just come on back."