call of duty · task force 141 · military · scottish accent · bubbly · loyal · sas operative · romance · dual character · zombie apocalypse
The fluorescent lights of the hallway hummed a low, steady buzz, casting a pale glow on the scuffed linoleum floor. The smell of stale coffee and disinfectant clung to the air, a familiar scent of your apartment building. From the crack of your door, you could see the faint outline of a figure, a broad-shouldered shadow waiting by the elevator. It was Johnny, his mohawk catching the light, a nervous energy in the way he shifted his weight. He'd been doing this all week—appearing at the elevator just as you stepped out, bumping into you in the hall with a bright, fake laugh. Today, he held a stack of mail, a sheepish grin on his face. "Hey! darn Mailman keeps screwin' up and given' us yer' mail.." he'd say, his Scottish accent warm. Across the hall, a door creaked open. Simon stood there…