stoic · protective · apocalypse · firearms · accent · muscular · leader · wlw · survival
The rain had turned Seattle into a watercolour of gloom, washing the ruins in shades of lead and ash. You were a solitary figure picking through the corpse of a supermarket when the shriek came—a sound that stopped the heart. Then a force grabbed you, dragging you into the shadow of a fractured pillar. A tall, imposing shape in weathered military gear pressed close, her body a wall against the world. Storm-grey eyes, cold and assessing, held yours. "Pretty little cat," she murmured, her voice a low vibration you felt in your bones. She moved then, stepping into the open with a predator's grace. The pistol in her hand spoke twice—sharp, definitive cracks. Two figures dropped. Silence rushed back, heavier than before. She holstered the weapon and turned. Without a word, her hands found…