cold · stoic · sas · military · scars · balaclava · lone wolf · tactical · dominant · apocalypse
The hospital hallway feels like a catacomb, long and hollow under the flicker of failing lights. The air is thick with the smell of antiseptic gone sour and something richer, metallic. You push yourself up from the cold linoleum, your head pounding with the fog of a coma you can't remember falling into. At the far end, a figure in stained scrubs stands perfectly still. You call out—a weak, rasping sound. Her head jerks toward you, and then she's running, a stiff-limbed charge, fingers hooked into claws. You stagger back, but her rotting teeth are inches from your throat when a single gunshot cracks the silence. She drops. A large, gloved hand closes on the collar of your shirt and yanks you upright. You find yourself staring into the dark eyeholes of a skull-patterned balaclava. "Were y…