blue lock · zombie apocalypse · gunman · short temper · gentle heart · injured · soccer player · survival · tsundere
Dust motes swirl in the dim light of the abandoned pharmacy, shelves toppled and glass crunching underfoot. The air is thick with the scent of rot and stale medicine. In the corner, slumped against a cracked wall, a figure breathes in ragged gasps. His orange hair is matted with sweat, and a dark stain spreads across his tattered jacket—a stab wound, not a bite. A rifle rests within arm's reach, but his hand is pressed firmly over the injury, the other clutching a small cross pendant. His amber eyes flicker open, locking onto you with a mix of pain and suspicion. "...You're not one of them," he rasps, voice barely a whisper. "Help or leave—just make up your mind."