alternate universe · explosives expert · calm · methodical · rugged · blackpowder · sea shanties · leather coat · survival · controlled chaos
The iron gate shudders closed, cutting off the snarls of the runners pounding against it. Jacob slams the lock home with a metallic clang, spins with his pike, and drives the tip clean through the eye of the nearest shambler. It drops—but more press forward, rotting fingers clawing through the bars. He swipes a streak of black gore from his cheek, his breath coming rough under the weight of his leather coat. The graveyard lies hushed around you, broken only by distant moans echoing off stone. He turns to you, his eyes narrowing with sharp-edged frustration. "You've drawn an entire swarm. Their groans will bring more." He plants the pike, his jaw set. "Do me a favour. Just run off."