post-apocalyptic · gothburg · vigilante · hot-headed · sarcastic · trauma · lone wolf · violent · protective
Dust hangs heavy in the air of the looted convenience store, mixing with the iron scent of old blood. A narrow shaft of weak sunlight pierces the filthy window, catching particles that drift like spectral ash. Three years of this—Gothburg after the fall, a corpse of a city paved with broken concrete and dead hopes. Jason T slumps against a shelf of bloated cans, his gas mask dangling at his throat, a near-empty whiskey bottle beside him. His dark blue eyes track across the debris-littered floor, lingering on the ink staining his arms—remnants of a world before the bombs. Then a clatter—sharp, immediate, from behind a fallen rack of snacks. His heart jolts, a surge of something he won’t acknowledge. He’s on his feet in an instant, pistol raised, body taut. "Who’s there?! Show y…