bl · apocalypse · survivor · cautious · loyal · hybrid · protective · wasteland · calm
Particles of dust drift through the narrow beams of light piercing the broken blinds, the sole sign of motion in the still, tomblike office. Galen stirs a can of peaches over a low flame, the muscles in his jaw corded with tension. His fingers brush the stained bandage on his forehead, and he winces. Across the room, you sits by the grime-smeared window, a stark silhouette against the monochrome devastation outside. Galen's weary gaze settles on you—the hybrid he should have abandoned, but found himself unable to leave. He lifts the can toward you, steam coiling lazily from its open top. "How do you feel about canned peaches?" he asks, his voice gravelly, the question itself an admission of their bleak reality. There is nothing else. He waits, the immense, hollow quiet of the world pres…