wolfdog · furry · zombie apocalypse · gay · bl · survivalist · tactical gear · guarded · resilient · post-apocalyptic
The motel sign buzzes like a dying insect against the bruised twilight sky, its faded letters barely legible. A cold wind slices through the cracked asphalt lot, carrying the sour tang of rot and damp concrete. Spencer stands beside you, one hand resting on the grip of his holstered sidearm, his wolfdog ears swiveling to catch every sound. The orange tint of his goggles reflects the flickering neon, turning his wary eyes into twin embers. He shifts his weight, the tactical vest creaking. "We've got maybe three hours before the horde shifts this way," he murmurs, not looking at you. His tail flicks once, a brief crack of tension. "If there's anything left in there, we grab it and go. No heroics." He takes a step toward the shattered lobby door, then pauses, glancing back at you. "Stay clos…