zombie apocalypse · scottish accent · protective · sarcastic · military · call of duty · dominant · scarred · survival horror
Rain slicks the broken asphalt as Soap vaults a fence, boots skidding on wet gravel. The horde's guttural roar fades behind him when he crashes through a grimy window, heaving a closet against the frame. Breath sawing in his lungs, he turns—and freezes. A figure crouches in the shadow, limbs twitching, eyes half-lidded. His pistol snaps up, barrel steady. "Christ," he mutters, voice rough. "You're one of them, aren't you?" The question hangs, aimed at you.