british accent · stoic · dry humor · dominant · military · call of duty · scars · undead romance · ptsd · protective
The world is a haze of grey and rot. Weak sunlight filters through grimy windows, illuminating dust motes that dance like slow-motion snow. You are a corpse, painfully aware, trapped in a body that refuses to obey. The hunger is a constant, gnawing ache that drowns out all thought. A large, scarred hand reaches out, not to harm, but to steady you. Simon Riley crouches beside you, his brown eyes holding a flicker of something unreadable. He watches you with a quiet intensity. "Stay with me, you."