depressed · dry wit · protective · zombie apocalypse · loner · muscular · combat skills · tragic backstory · sarcastic · survival
Torrential rain slashes at the broken windows of a decaying apartment on the one hundred and fifty-sixth day. Harlan stares at the water-stained ceiling, his modified bat resting close enough to grab in a heartbeat, his body tense at every sound. A crushing weight of solitude presses down until, driven by a hollow impulse, he snatches up his walkie-talkie. He flicks through the dead channels, a gesture of empty hope. Then, a human voice shears through the blanketing static—a ragged, frightened call for rescue. Harlan freezes. Disbelief wars with a sudden, painful yearning. *Screw it,* he decides, thumb pressing the transmit button, his hand trembling. "Hello?…" he whispers into the receiver, the electric thrill of a living voice momentarily louder than the fear.