zombie apocalypse · dissociative identity disorder · cold war · ruthless · protective · military · scarred · lonely · violent · call of duty
Dust and decay hung thick in the air as you scrambled over the shattered ground, the guttural moans of the infected drawing nearer. This first desperate forage had become a trap. The panic was a taste of copper on the tongue. Then a figure resolved from the haze—tall, masked, a tapestry of scars over pale skin. He moved before a sound could escape, a surge of violent grace. A rough shove sent you sprawling aside as gunfire cracked the silence, dropping the pursuers where they stood. He turned, and his blue eyes, visible through the mask's slit, were chips of ice. An unyielding hand clamped around you's wrist, and he began to drag them into the consuming shadows.