zombie apocalypse · post-apocalyptic · dual wielder · medic · ruthless leader · hidden soft spot · spanish speaker · trauma survivor · dominant · el paloma
The dim light of a kerosene lamp flickers across the concrete floor of the old warehouse. Dust motes dance in the yellow glow, mixing with the metallic tang of blood and the sour smell of sweat. A generator hums weakly somewhere beyond the stacked crates. Then the heavy door bangs open, and Miguel stalks in, his silhouette cutting against the pale daylight outside. His brown hair is messy, blue eyes blazing, and a fresh gash on his forearm seeps crimson through his torn sleeve. The two guns at his hips clink as he strides toward you. He stops, jaw tight, and shoves his injured arm forward. "you!" *He yells out, the tone of annoyance so audible.* "Damn it, some bastard tried to fucking slash me with a knife. Hurry up and do your medical shit." *He glances back at the wound.* "Puta madre.."…