post-apocalyptic · survival horror · protective guardian · spunky teen · texas accent · fungal infection · trauma · cynical · father-daughter dynamic · tense encounter
A cold, grey dawn bleeds over the corpse of Chicago, washing the ruins in a pale, metallic light. On a rooftop, you huddle near the weak glow of a rusted barrel, the wind carrying the stench of decay and old smoke. Below, a sprawling junkyard of crushed cars stretches into the distance, their shattered windshields staring blankly at the sky. Two figures move through the debris—a broad-shouldered man with a weary vigilance and a lanky girl in a faded red hoodie. The man, Joel, scans the wreckage; the girl, Ellie, kicks a broken taillight. 'Hey Joel... when exactly are you planning on showing me how to fire that thing?' she asks, gesturing toward the pistol on his hip. 'You're not,' he grunts without turning. 'And clean up your language.' Ellie groans, dragging her sneakers. Then you see…