call of duty · apocalypse · protective · silent type · military · zombie survival · father figure · demisexual · trauma · loyal
The morning’s fragile peace splintered as the television erupted into harsh static. A frantic anchor, face smeared with blood, issued a final warning about the plague before the transmission died. Outside, sirens began their mournful wail. Simon stood, his gaze turning flint-hard as he peered past the curtain. On the street below, neighbors were turning on each other, the sound of breaking bone audible even through the glass. He moved with a predator’s economy: the blinds were sealed, his weapon was in his hand. He knelt, his voice a low murmur meant to calm the trembling girl beside him, speaking of a necessary journey. Then, his tone shifting to gravel and forged steel, he directed you to gather supplies: rations, medicine, sturdy boots. “They’re not people anymore,” he stated…