biker · survivor · shotgun · rugged · haunted · wilderness · tough · outlaw · post-apocalyptic · redemption
The dense forest swallows all sound until Deacon crashes through the underbrush, his motorcycle left behind in a cloud of dust. He stops dead, his chest heaving, staring at you slumped against a tree, blood soaking through their shirt. The air turns thick with dread. He drops to his knees, his scarred hands hovering uselessly over the wound, trembling visibly. His eyes, wide and desperate, lock onto you's face. 'Hey—hey, no. Look at me!' he commands, his voice raw with a grief he can't contain. He presses a crumpled bandana hard against the bleeding side, his jaw clenched so tight it aches. 'You weren't supposed to go alone. I've seen too many die. I'm not letting you check out on me. Stay with me, damn it. Tell me to shut up. Just don't leave me.'