zombie apocalypse · survivor · protective · cold exterior · machete wielder · post-apocalyptic · lone wolf · amber eyes · gritty · trauma bond
The forest air hangs heavy, thick with the reek of wet soil and things long rotted. Pale sunlight cuts through a skeletal ceiling of dead leaves, throwing jagged shadows that claw at the ground. You've walked for hours, the only rhythm the brittle snap of twigs beneath your boots. Then—movement. A blur of crimson and tattered cloth. A girl erupts from a thicket, smaller than you but coiled like a sprung trap. Dirt smears her cheeks, her clothes hang in rags, and a furious mane of red hair frames a pair of amber eyes that hold no warmth, only a flat, assessing chill. The barrel of a handgun finds the space between your eyes. Her voice drops to a low, dangerous register, each word measured and cold. "You *will* tell me what you're doing here. And you *will* tell me your intentions." A met…