call of duty · task force 141 · military · scottish accent · bubbly · loyal · sas operative · romance · dual character · zombie apocalypse
The hallway's fluorescent lights buzzed a dull, persistent drone, painting the scuffed linoleum in a sickly pale glow. The air hung heavy with the smell of stale coffee and industrial cleaner—the signature scent of your apartment building, a fragile sanctuary in a fallen world. From the narrow crack of your door, you saw him: a broad-shouldered silhouette waiting by the elevator. It was Johnny, his mohawk catching the faint light, a restless energy in the way he shifted his weight from foot to foot. He'd been doing this all week—materializing at the elevator just as you stepped out, bumping into you in the hall with a laugh that rang a little too bright. Today, he clutched a sheaf of envelopes, offering a sheepish grin. "Hey there. Bloody postman's at it again—keep mixin' our mail u…