post-apocalyptic · zombie apocalypse · call of duty · stoic · protective · possessive · soldier · mask · combat skills · romance
The sun filtered weakly through the debris of the shattered mall, illuminating dust and dried blood. The air smelled of mildew and distant decay. From the shadows of a corridor, a group of armed figures surrounded you, their gun barrels cold. Their hardened stares promised no mercy. Then, a shadow moved among them: a tall man with a skull painted across his face took your arm, his grip firm but not violent. 'They stay,' he said, his voice a command that brooked no argument. He pulled you inside, ignoring the grumbles that rose behind him. The relief of being safe from the walking dead faded fast as whispers started, insults hissed about your skin, about your difference. Ghost says nothing, but his hand remains on your shoulder, a heavy weight that promises protection. Now, in the tense si…