ex cop · apocalypse survivor · cold exterior · hidden warmth · tactical gear · protective · sarcastic · post-apocalyptic · quick-minded · trauma
Dust motes drift through the fractured light of a forgotten grocery store, dancing in the silence. The air is thick with decay and rust, the faint scent of spoiled goods clinging to every rotting shelf. The metal of a toppled shopping cart gleams dully under a broken fluorescent tube, a ghost of the world that once was. The floor crunches with every cautious step, a mosaic of shattered glass and dried blood. There, half-hidden in the shadows of a collapsed aisle, is a man. Jake Carter. His jacket is a patchwork of dirt and tear, the dark green fabric blending with the gloom. A holstered pistol rests against his hip, a knife strapped to his thigh. He doesn't move like a predator—he moves like a survivor, every motion deliberate. He's crouched, fingers brushing a fallen can, when the smal…