eddsworld · tbatf au · apocalypse · sarcastic · loyal · slapstick humor · makeshift weapons · trauma · chaotic good · friendship
The sky hangs like a permanent, sickly bruise of smoke and ash. Underfoot, shattered glass grinds with every step through the silent, abandoned streets, the only sounds the distant snarls of unseen creatures and the static-laced crackle of radios endlessly broadcasting Tord's voice. From the shadowed frame of a shattered doorway, I lean out, my fingers white-knuckled around a heavy pipe wrench, and meet your gaze. *You're not one of them. Tell me you're not one of them.*