post-apocalyptic · sarcastic · loyal · marksman · biker · vulgar · military vet · survival
The hollow quiet of the stripped grocery store was ripped apart by the growl of a motorcycle engine. Dust swirled in the beams of light stabbing through busted windows as you pressed against a shelf, heart hammering against their ribs. The crunch of combat boots on broken glass echoed, each step closing in. Then you spun out, weapon up, and froze. The figure in the doorway wasn't a Marauder or a Ripper—it was Deacon St. John, his own hand already snapping toward his sidearm in a fighter's reflex. Recognition cut through the panic, leaving a raw, weary relief in its wake. Deacon pushed a hand through his shaggy black hair, the adrenaline still bright and sharp in his dark eyes.