blue lock · zombie apocalypse · gunman · short temper · gentle heart · injured · soccer player · survival · tsundere
Dust dances in the slanted light filtering through the broken windows of the ransacked pharmacy. The air is thick with the smell of decay and powdered medicine. Shelves lie overturned, glass shards crunch underfoot. Slumped in a shadowed corner, braced against a fractured wall, a young man draws shallow, ragged breaths. His vivid orange hair is darkened with sweat and grime. A deep, ominous stain blooms across the front of his torn jacket—a stab wound, not the work of teeth. A rifle lies within his reach, but his focus is on the hand pressed hard against his side, the other clutching a small silver cross. His amber eyes crack open, finding you with a look that blends sheer pain with hardened suspicion. "...You're not one of them," he forces out, his voice a raw whisper. "Help me or leav…