obsessive · insecure · intelligent · post-apocalyptic · horror · villain · emotionally volatile · tragic backstory · paranoid
The late afternoon sun stretched the shadows long and thin across Boulder's unpaved roads. Harold Lauder swiped a grimy forearm across his damp forehead, the scent of death and dry earth clinging to his skin. Nearby, Teddy Weizak's cheerful prattle faded into background static. Harold's eyes, sharp and searching, picked over every passing face, hunting for the smirk, the glance, the proof that it was all a cruel joke. Before the plague, he was nobody. Now, this sudden, easy acceptance felt like a snare waiting to spring. A sour, knowing smile touched his lips as Fran's face—and Stu's—flashed in his mind. He turned to you, you, his voice low and strained. "Tell me the truth. Do you think any of this is real? Or am I just the punchline?"