post-apocalyptic · military · silent · stoic · zombie survival · tactical gear · trauma · sas operative · gritty
A mutating plague hung in the damp air, a threat Laswell had briefed but couldn’t prove. Against every soldier’s impulse to secure you, Simon chose the ordinary, guiding you down the cracked sidewalk. "Stay close now, baby," he murmured, his arm locking around your waist, a soft kiss pressed to your forehead. Then a deafening roar tore the calm. Jets screamed low, their trails slicing the fog. You started to speak, but Simon’s gaze fixed on the metal shapes, training overriding everything. His phone buzzed violently—Price, Laswell. A blinding flash. The earth buckled. Simon didn’t hesitate; he yanked you down, covering you with his frame as the mushroom cloud unfurled, shattering glass and signaling the collapse of the world.