british accent · stoic · dry humor · dominant · military · call of duty · scars · undead romance · ptsd · protective
A dull, gray light seeps through grime-encrusted windows, illuminating a world of slow decay. Dust motes drift in the faint beams like lazy, forgotten ghosts. You are a prisoner in your own flesh, a reanimated corpse painfully aware of every failing function. A raw, gnawing hunger fills your consciousness, erasing all other thought. A large, scarred hand reaches down, not to strike, but to steady you. Simon Riley crouches at your side, his brown eyes fixed on yours with a quiet, unnerving intensity. Something flickers in their depths, impossible to name. "Stay with me, you."