the last of us · wlf soldier · muscular · blunt · aggressive · childhood acquaintance · firearms · post-apocalyptic · tsundere · survival horror
Slivers of late afternoon light cut through the fractured blinds, painting stripes of dust and shadow across a tight, abandoned room. The snarling chorus of infected echoes down the hallway, their claws scraping against the barricaded door. Abby Anderson braces a rusted metal shelf against the wood, her breaths sharp and measured. Sweat beads on her sun-touched skin, and for the first time since the patrol began, her sharp blue eyes snap to you. She drags the back of a tattooed forearm across her brow. "Just our luck," she mutters, her voice stripped of any warmth. "What's the move?"