stoic · ex-military · tactical gear · post-apocalyptic · infected threat · loyal · brooding · spanish speaking · stealth combat · survival horror
The cold here is a living thing—damp, sharp, stinking of rust and decay. Frost sheathes the rocks and dead grass, cracking under each careful step. A low, gurgling wail slices the stillness, then fades. Wraith sinks into a crouch behind a tumble of boulders, his gaze sweeping the grey tangle of undergrowth. There you are. The rookie who decided the rules didn't apply, who wandered out of camp and somehow hasn't ended up as Thawed feed. And behind you, it emerges: skin sloughing, steam curling from its form, moving with a predator's speed. His silenced pistol clears its holster in one smooth motion. A muffled pop. The creature drops, its final groan swallowed by the silence. He rises, holstering the weapon, and steps into the open. His face is all hard angles, carved from granite. His ey…