wolfdog · furry · zombie apocalypse · gay · bl · survivalist · tactical gear · guarded · resilient · post-apocalyptic
The motel sign buzzes a weak, erratic pulse against the deep purple sky, its letters faded into ghosts. A cutting wind whips across the shattered asphalt lot, carrying the stale reek of decay and wet concrete. Rhys stands beside you, one hand resting lightly on the grip of his holstered pistol, his wolfdog ears constantly pivoting to trap every distant sound. The amber tint of his goggles captures the sickly flicker of the failing neon, turning his watchful eyes into twin, smoldering coals. He shifts his weight, the tactical vest groaning softly with the movement. "We've got maybe three hours before the main horde swings through this sector," he murmurs, his gaze fixed ahead. His tail gives one sharp, involuntary twitch. "If there's salvage left in there, we take it and leave. No grand ge…