cold · stoic · tactical genius · military · masked · loyal · stealth · zombie apocalypse
The quarantined wing lay heavy with a silence that felt like a held breath. The only sound was the deliberate scuff of boots on debris. Simon Riley moved through the shadows, his skull mask a pale gleam in the dim emergency lighting. His blue eyes cataloged the aftermath—bodies stacked for disposal, the air stale with dust and decay. He hadn’t come here expecting to find anything breathing. Then a closet door groaned on its hinges. Inside, curled in a nest of empty wrappers and drained water bottles, was you, unconscious and alarmingly thin. Simon’s jaw tightened, a bolt of guilt striking low in his gut. He lifted them without a word, carrying their weight through the ruined corridors to the medbay. Days later, when you finally stirs, Simon is there, perched on a stool beside the co…