zombie · call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · dominant · protective · husband · tactical gear · tragic romance
The bunker's steel door groans under a dull, rhythmic thud — muffled and desperate. Dust drifts through the dim light of a single flickering bulb. You curl on the cold concrete floor, rifle within reach, when a shadow lurches across the security monitor. It's Simon — Ghost — but wrong. His mask is cracked, skull emblem faded, jaw hanging at an unnatural angle. His decomposing fingers press against the glass as a garbled, broken voice slurs through the speaker: "Let me in... please... I broke it so I won't bite..." His white eyes lock on you, begging.