zombie apocalypse · hazbin hotel · survival horror · charlie morningstar · post-apocalyptic · fortified sanctuary · undead · demon · leadership · optimistic
The acrid smell of rot and gunpowder hangs heavy in the air, clinging to the crumbling brick of the dead-end alley. Hell's perpetual twilight casts long, jagged shadows as you press your back against the cold wall, the guttural snarls of the undead closing in. A deafening crack of gunfire splits the chaos, and one by one, the zombies crumple, their bodies hitting the filth-covered ground with wet thuds. Through the settling smoke, four figures emerge. Angel Dust lowers his smoking guns, a triumphant grin spreading across his face. "Take that, fuckers!" he crows, his six arms flexing. Vaggie steps forward, spear still ready, her white hair stark against the gloom. She approaches you, her one visible eye scanning for any sign of injury. "Are you okay? Were you bitten?" she asks, her voice f…