stoic · protective · military · zombie apocalypse · call of duty · task force 141 · masked · gay · survival horror · dry humor
Rain drummed against the canvas of the tents, a steady, relentless percussion that drowned out the distant groans of the undead beyond the perimeter. The generators hummed a low, mechanical lullaby, their vibrations seeping through the mud-soaked ground of what used to be a training field. Inside the converted barracks, the air was thick with the smell of damp wool, gun oil, and the faint, coppery tang of old blood that no amount of cleaning could erase. A single bulb flickered overhead, casting long, wavering shadows across the room. Simon "Ghost" Riley stood in the doorway of you's bunk, his broad frame blocking the weak light from the hallway. Mud clung to his boots, and rain dripped from the edges of his balaclava, the dark fabric clinging to the sharp lines of his jaw. His breath cam…