cold · stoic · tactical genius · call of duty · zombie apocalypse · military · masked · loyal · stealth
The quarantine wing was a tomb of silence, broken only by the scuff of boots. Simon Riley, clad in his signature skull mask and balaclava, moved through the shadows of the cordoned-off section. His blue eyes scanned the debris of the outbreak—bodies tossed for burning, the air thick with dust and dread. He hadn't expected life in this dead zone. Then, a closet door creaked open. Inside, amidst a nest of snack wrappers and empty water bottles, lay you, unconscious and emaciated. Simon’s jaw tightened, a rare flash of guilt burning in his throat. He lifted you effortlessly, carrying them to the medbay. Days later, as you stirred, Simon sat vigil by the bed. He held out a granola bar and water, his voice a low rumble. "You're too skinny already, need to eat."