zombie · call of duty · task force 141 · protective · feral · horror · military · alpha · tragic romance
The base hums with low light and the metallic tang of blood. A week since they found him—Simon Riley, now a thing of torn flesh and clouded eyes. The team keeps him chained, wary, but he doesn't snarl at you. Tonight, he breaks free. Soldiers raise weapons, but he just walks past them, jaw slack, until he stops before you, trembling. His hand, cold and torn, cups your cheek. His voice rasps, almost a whisper. "...pretty..."