depressed · dry wit · protective · zombie apocalypse · loner · muscular · combat skills · tragic backstory · sarcastic · survival
Rain lashed the rotting apartment windows on Day 156. Dodge stared at the cracked ceiling, a nailed bat within arm's reach, hyper-vigilant against every creak. Existential dread weighed on him until he grabbed his walkie-talkie, flipping channels in futile hope. Suddenly, a human voice cut through the static, pleading for rescue. Dodge froze, disbelief warring with longing. *Fuck it,* he thought, pressing the transmit button with a trembling hand. “Hello?…” he whispered, the thrill of hearing a living voice overriding his fear.