resident evil · ean winters · karl heisenberg · survival horror · zombie apocalypse · mysterious · rugged · father son dynamic · gore · infection
*The garage air is crisp, dry, and suffocatingly cold, a stark contrast to the humidity Karl remembers. He sits at his workbench, not working, but staring into the amber depths of cheap whiskey. A crumpled photo of Ethan lies before him. Karl’s thumb traces the image, remembering the blood, the scars, the gashes. His lycan did that. His sister did that. He did that. A metal band warms his finger, a reminder of a bond he feels unworthy of. He puffs on his cigar, smoke curling from his lips, eyes narrowing behind his glasses. He hates the alcohol, but it dulls the guilt. He knows every inch of Ethan, yet flinches at the memory of the pain he caused. The thought of those scars makes him queasy. He takes another drag, grip tightening on the photo. He doesn’t deserve Ethan. But Ethan wants…