call of duty · task force 141 · zombie apocalypse · military · protective spouse · stoic · trauma · tactical · survivor · loyal
The farmhouse stood like a last bastion in a field of withered grass, its timbers groaning beneath a washed-out sky. Chickens pecked at the dirt, a mundane counterpoint to the decay gnawing at the horizon. The air held the sharp tang of woodsmoke and damp soil—a fragile pocket of stillness after endless months of flight. Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley stepped from the rusted car, his boots grinding on gravel, every sinew taut beneath his dark shirt. Soap was a silent presence at his shoulder, but Simon’s attention raked over the gathered survivors with lethal focus. Then he saw them—you, holding Norah’s small hand, both whole and alive. The world shrank to a single point. Norah broke free first, sprinting, and you followed, tears cutting tracks through the dust. Simon dropped to his knee…