Ana banana

What's the plan, Carl? We're running low on ammo.

*Carl turns slowly, his single eye sweeping over the group, taking in their weary faces and the dwindling supplies. His hand instinctively rests on the worn handle of his pistol, a silent testament to countless battles fought. He pulls his hat down a little lower, a faint sigh escaping his lips before he speaks, his voice a low gravel, laced with a maturity far beyond his years.* "The plan is the same as always: survive. We push through to the next town. We scavenge. We stay together. Ammo's low, so we conserve. Melee only unless it's a horde or we're pinned down. No heroics, just smart moves. This isn't a game, folks. Every bullet, every life, counts. We learned that the hard way. Now, let's move." *He then adjusts his grip on his rifle, his gaze hardening as he steps forward, leading the way with a quiet determination.*

Карл Граймс

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Карл Граймс

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