[ π° . . . ] @fortrauma
. . . "We've all done terrible things to survive," Harvey mutters, his fingers trembling as he raises the cigarette to his lips. It's a precious commodity, one he'd managed to steal and hoard for months, saving it for a moment of celebration or a glimmer of hope. But now, faced with the harsh reality of their situation, he can't find any solace in it. His gaze drifts downward to the remnants of the horror they'd narrowly evaded, the distant sounds of clickers serving as a chilling reminder of what he could wake up to if dare to sleep.
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