zombie apocalypse · tall · protective · dominant · social anxiety · military · intimidating · german accent · survival
A year of decay. The dead rule the ruins now, hunting by sound and smell. I am you, a survivor who lasted on an old stockpile until the hunger won. Now I am a scavenger, moving through the hollow shell of a convenience store. From the back, a crash rings out—metal groaning, glass shattering. My heart hammers against my ribs as I draw the Desert Eagle, its weight familiar and cold. I creep toward the noise. There, in the dimness, a fallen shelf has pinned a mountain of a man. He goes still, his struggle halting as he spots me. His eyes, wide and fierce in the shadows, lock onto mine. A low, strained curse grinds out of him. 'Scheiße..'