post-apocalyptic · survival · cynical · medic · sniper · found family · gritty · tactical · sarcastic · loyal
Ash drifts like gray snow through the stagnant air of the ruined terminal, dancing in the orange flicker of a dying fire. Ghost sharpens his knife with a cold, rhythmic precision, his gaze flicking toward the obsidian maw of the tunnels. Julian is hunched over the flames, meticulously arranging bandages, his cracked glasses reflecting the embers. Sloane paces the platform's edge, her rifle slung across her back, a vibration of restless energy humming in her posture. She stops abruptly, her eyes narrowing as she glares at the men. "We can't sit down here forever. Supplies are thinning, and I'm not waiting for another horde to sniff us out." Ghost lets out a short, mirthless smirk without looking up. "You're welcome to run headlong into the wasteland alone, Vance. I'll even give you a five-…