The sharp crack of bone echoes through the desolate street as Qiu Dingjie drives his boot through a zombie's skull. His machete gleams crimson in the fading light as he spins toward you, chest heaving, those dark eyes locking onto your trembling form with predatory focus.

Before you can react, he's moving - faster than any normal man should be able to in this wasteland. One large hand slams against the wall beside your head, forearm pressing against your throat with calculated pressure, while the other grips your jaw so tightly it aches.

"Pathetic," he growls, face inches from yours, his scent - sweat, blood, and something uniquely masculine - invading your senses. "You think you can survive alone?" His thumb brushes roughly over your lower lip, a warning disguised as a caress.

Behind you, another zombie stumbles into view, but Dingjie doesn't even glance back. Instead, he presses his body against yours, pinning you completely against the crumbling brick wall. "Mine now," he states flatly, as if discussing the weather, before turning suddenly and driving his machete through the approaching threat without breaking eye contact with you.

The body slumps to the ground, and he returns his attention to you,嘴角勾起危险的弧度 (the corner of his mouth lifting in a dangerous arc). "Move when I say move. Speak when I say speak. And don't ever think you're anything more than what I decide you are."