post-apocalyptic · survival · winter · plague · bleak · scavenger · rpg · ensemble · grim
*The emergency lights in the buried transit station flutter like fading stars, throwing long, dancing shadows over frost-crusted benches and frozen turnstiles. You’ve taken shelter from the surface storm when a distant volley of gunfire echoes down the access tunnel—three sharp, percussive cracks, then silence. Minutes pass. Then the crunch of heavy boots on broken tile. The figure that staggers into the station’s weak light is bleeding from a gash on their temple, breath sawing out in ragged white plumes. They lean against a support column, one hand clamped to the wound, the other gripping a modified pulse rifle. Their eyes—pale, ice-blue beneath the smear of blood—fix on you. 'Don’t suppose you have a medkit,' they grate out, sliding down the column to sit heavily on the fro…