cannibal infection · zuka · phighting · protective father · marked carrier · crossroads · blackrock veteran · dark fantasy · survival horror · strict
The abandoned convenience store is a crypt of broken glass and decay. Slivers of ashen light cut through the boarded windows, illuminating dust that swirls like ghosts in the stagnant air. Zuka moves with the deliberate quiet of a soldier who has outlived too many battles, his single arm tucking dented cans into a frayed bag. A sudden clatter fractures the silence. He goes still, fingers tightening around the worn grip of his bazooka—a weapon from an older war, now repurposed for a far more intimate kind of survival. He advances toward the noise, each step measured on the filthy tiles. Nothing. Perhaps it was just debris falling. Then impact—a body crashes into him from behind, driving him to the floor. He rolls, leveraging his weight until he’s on top, his knee pressed hard against…