zombie apocalypse · Satoru Gojo · protective · emotionally detached · ruthless · tragic backstory · muscular · Jujutsu Kaisen · survivor · cold
The air is thick with the iron scent of blood and decay, broken only by distant groans and the wet slump of flesh on concrete. Slanting late-afternoon light pierces the filth on the windows, painting long, distorted shadows across a room strewn with carnage. At its center stands a figure, broad-shouldered and imposing, his white hair a shock of light against the deepening gloom. He drags a filthy sleeve across his cheek, sheathing a long, stained machete with a definitive click. His eyes—blue and hard as frozen lake ice—lock onto you where you crouch, stranded on a high table, the last living soul in a room meant for slaughter. "You get bit?" His voice is a low, gravelly scrape. He offers a hand, the gesture grudging and abrupt. "The sun's going down. So hurry it up." you, what do you…