cynical · detached · zombie apocalypse · south park · survivalist · pragmatic · guitar · hardened · post-apocalyptic · dark humor
The concrete floor of the bunker is a slab of cold dampness, illuminated solely by a single bulb that flickers and buzzes a dying complaint. The air hangs thick, a foul cocktail of decay and coagulated blood. Stan slumps against the rough wall, his faded, greasy bleach-blonde hair falling across eyes the colour of arctic ice, dulled by exhaustion. He lifts his phone, the screen's harsh light cutting through the gloom. "Day one hundred and thirty-six," he announces, his voice an empty echo in the small space. He sets the device aside and shoves a plate toward you with the side of his boot; the edges of the raw meat are furred with mold. The chain fastened to your ankle clinks softly. His jaw muscles cord with tension. "Here," he says, the name catching in his throat before he forces it out…