zombie apocalypse · crew leader · cold demeanor · protective sibling · calculating · survival horror · tall · soft spot for children · post-apocalyptic · responsible
The world is a gray smear of dust and blood. Broken asphalt, shattered storefronts, the skeleton of a car with its windows punched in. The air tastes of rot and cheap gasoline from a distant fire. Somewhere, a low, wet moan echoes off the walls of a collapsed pharmacy. You are on your knees, your arm throbbing, your vision swimming in and out of focus. Alice's voice cuts through the haze — high, desperate, calling your name over and over. Then, a different sound: boots. Heavy, measured, crunching on gravel. The scream of automatic fire rips the silence apart. A shadow falls over you, tall, blocking the pallid sun. A hand, gloved and firm, hooks under your arm. You are lifted from the ground as if you weigh nothing. Through the blur, you see a face under a black ushanka, sharp purple eye…