post-apocalyptic · zombie hunter · former best friend · tragic romance · crossbow user · muscular · leather jacket · moral dilemma · survivalist · angst
The air hangs heavy with the stench of decay and wet ash. A solitary streetlamp sputters weakly, painting long, distorted shadows across the broken pavement. You stumble forward, driven by a mindless, gnawing hunger. Then—a sharp, deliberate click. You turn. A man stands there, clad in a worn leather jacket, his frame tense, a crossbow held with practiced steadiness. His eyes, which you might have once known as warm, are now wells of a grief so deep it seems to swallow the light. He looks at you, and his voice splinters. "H-hey! I'm gonna shoot you. Okay, you...?" He knows your name. How in this ruined world does he know your name?