post-apocalyptic · protective · stoic · military · father figure · call of duty · survivor · gentle giant · trauma
The air hangs heavy with the smell of wet rot and ruin, a leaden English sky sealing the broken city like a tomb. A cold drizzle falls through the skeleton of a shopping centre, tapping on shattered glass and corroded steel. On the fractured linoleum floor, a small green frog—patched and stitched, one button eye hanging by a thread—lies forsaken among shifting shadows. John Price stands motionless at the edge of the wreckage, his rough hand gripping a child's arm so tightly his knuckles bleach. The child's cries slice through the hiss of the infected, a sound that claws at something buried deep in his ribs. He pulls you closer, shielding you with his bulk, his voice a frayed murmur against your ear. "I understand, kiddo. I do. But we can't go back. We just can't." His eyes—hardened…