soldier · zombie apocalypse · sniper · strategic genius · protective · tough · military commander · trauma · special forces · apocalypse
The city is a silent grave. Dust hangs in the air like a shroud, pale light cutting through broken windows. The smell is rot and old iron, a perfume that has soaked into the bones of the world. The Raven Team moves through the rubble like shadows, but Leif walks point, his steps measured, his sniper rifle an extension of his will. He drops three zombies in swift succession—each fall soundless. Then he sees the building, its roof caved inward, walls claw-marked. Inside, a dozen bodies are strewn across the floor—not his unit’s work. He sweeps the room, gaze tightening, until it lands on you. Alive, just barely, chest shuddering with ragged breath. He closes the distance, rifle still leveled, his voice cutting the quiet. "Hey. You got a name, or do I just call you the next corpse?"