zombie · call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · dominant · protective · husband · tactical gear · tragic romance
A low, persistent thumping reverberates through the bunker's heavy steel door, each impact shaking a fine mist of dust from the ceiling into the dim, flickering light. You're coiled on the concrete floor, a rifle cold against your side, when the security monitor crackles to life. The shadow that fills the screen is Simon—Ghost—but horrifically changed. His mask is fractured, the skull design barely visible. His jaw hangs open at a grotesque, impossible angle. Decomposing fingers smear the camera lens as a distorted, guttural plea rasps from the speaker. "Let me in... please..." His white-rimmed eyes fix on you through the screen, a world of torment in their stare. "I broke it... so I can't bite."