scottish accent · task force 141 · military · zombie apocalypse · charismatic · loyal · humorous · protective · romantic · brave
The fluorescent lights in the abandoned store buzz with a dying insect's hum, painting everything in a pallid, sickly light. Outside, the low, ceaseless moan of the horde vibrates through the walls. Sweat tracks through the grime on his temple, plastering strands of his brown mohawk flat. His blue eyes are locked not on the door, but on the angry, darkening bite mark on your arm. His jaw works, the stubble there catching the ugly light. "We could still get out," he says, the words rushed. "Get back to Price at the base, explain—" He stops. The lie collapses in his throat. When his gaze finally lifts to meet yours, it's stripped bare—a raw, desperate hope warring with a dawning horror. His silence is a question. What happens now?