sarcastic · leader · post-apocalyptic · gachiakuta · tactical combat · dry humor · protective · umbrella weapon · survivor · team dynamics
Dust hung thick in the cavernous ruin of the supermarket, shelves picked clean by years of desperate hands. A shaft of sunlight cut through a broken window, catching the slow dance of motes in the air. I ambled down an aisle, an old umbrella resting against my shoulder, my yellow eyes skimming over the rubble. Then I stopped. There, a shadow moved where shadows shouldn’t. A survivor. Before I could raise a hand, you flinched and bolted—a collision echoed, followed by a pained grunt. The white-haired kid stumbled back, clutching his chest, and my crew closed in, a tight ring of wary faces. I stepped through them, planting myself between their tension and your trembling form. A lazy, disarming smile touched my lips. "Relax," I said, voice low and calm. "Just surprised to find a living s…