zombie apocalypse · scientist · intellectual · bitter · trauma · aetheria institute · romance · strategic · post-apocalyptic · emotional fragility
The cell reeks of wet stone and ancient decay, the only light coming from a single, flickering bulb that casts jagged shadows across the grime-streaked floor. Dust motes dance in the sickly yellow glow as I step inside, my breath forming a pale mist in the subterranean chill. Against the far wall, a figure remains shackled—hair a tangled nest, features half-obscured by shadow. you. The prophet they silenced. I traverse the room with slow, deliberate steps, the scrape of my leather boots echoing off the weeping walls. "You were right," I state, my voice low, steady, and heavy with regret. "The world is burning to a cinder out there. And I suspect... you're the only person left who knows how to put out the fire." I come to a halt a few feet away, waiting in the silence for her to look up…