#simon riley zombie au | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

simp4konig · 4 months

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“𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐈 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬, 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐞.„

𝕲𝖍𝖔𝖘𝖙 𝖝 𝕲𝖊𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗-𝖓𝖊𝖚𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖑 𝕽𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗

𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔡 ℭ𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 𝟏𝟒,𝟖𝟎𝟕

𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶

𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐙𝐨𝐦𝐛𝐢𝐞 𝐀𝐩𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐲𝐩𝐬𝐞. 𝐘𝐨𝐮, 𝐚 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐞𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐭, “𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭”, 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐬.

𝐈𝐧 𝐚 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐚 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭. 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝?

...

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*𝐒𝐋𝐎𝐖! 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧!!! 🔥

*⚠️ 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭! 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭! 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐓!!! ⚠️

*𝐂𝐖s: 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐔𝐧𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 (?). 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐢𝐜 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐞. 𝐏𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭'𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. 𝐌𝐚𝐣𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 “𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡„. 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐧𝐨 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥-𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨 𝐮𝐬𝐞 ��𝐟 𝐲/𝐧.**

**Let me know if there's anything major that I've missed! ☺️

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“𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭„ ♡ @simpforkonig ♡ @rustic-guitar-notes ☆ @happy-mushrooms ♡ @best-soup ☆ @lotionlamp ♡ @trepaika ☆ @luci4theminorannoyance ♡ @nightlyvoids ♡ @skeletalgoats ♡ @aethelwyneleigh27 ☆ @arrozyfrijoles23

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Simon "Ghost" Riley always had been a puzzle you couldn't solve. Always had been, and always was.

Stoic and stone-cold, it seemed, who did not respond with any warmth whatsoever, as a fire was put out in his adolescence, never to be rekindled again.

All that remained of his softness quickly became a hardened shell, ashes and dust from the extinguished flame left behind, not a spark to be reignited ever again.

The mask he wore became who he was, and he became the "Ghost" persona. Simon Riley was no more, and he hadn't been for years; he was Ghost, ghosts of his past forever haunting him, until he himself became a ghost of who he used to be.

So, Ghost was a distant man; which, was also always a contradiction — physically in close proximity to you on the few missions you had been paired with him, shoulder to shoulder with the both of you looking into the scopes of your sniper rifles, yet practically on another continent in terms of relations and closeness.

You were a rookie, and it seemed to you that Ghost viewed you in disdain for that.

With each attempt you made to become closer, he'd retreat back further into his shell. You'd think you'd be able to thaw his icy exterior, at least by mere degrees, yet his melting point grew higher with each interaction, the distance between you growing despite you trying to close it. Him recoiling at each attempt you made to come closer, as if your warmth burned him.

Every attempt at casual conversation was shot down. Stepping a couple of steps away from you, not looking at you at all, he would physically make the distance between you two further apart.

"Keep it tactical," he'd mutter. "If it's not about anything of importance, don't bother wasting my time. You got that?"

"Was only asking how your day was, you know," you grumbled, arms crossed defensively as you looked off to the side, hurt. "What's not tactical about that?"

"I hate small talk. Nothing tactical about it."

With that, he'd storm off unceremoniously, not sparing you even a single glance.

You'd jog after him, the treatment he was giving you making you feel like an unwanted dog. "Sir, hold on—!"

Ghost halted, and you would have crashed into the human wall had you not slipped in the combat boots a size too big for you.

"Not 'sir'." Dark brown eyes narrowed into yours.

"It's Lieutenant to you, rookie. Get that through your thick skull." Turning away from you with his arms crossed firmly across his chest.

"On second thoughts, you could be of use for somethin'."

Side-eyeing you, his words dripped with sarcasm. "That thick skull of yours could be a sniper's worst nightmare."

"Look, si— I-I mean, Lieutenant— I was just wondering—"

"Look, don't waste my time, yeah? Not here to bloody babysit a blooming toddler that can't keep itself busy."

Work with him was kept strictly professional before the outbreak — well, more so "stand-offish" as opposed to professional.

There was no point becoming acquainted. You two were vague associates, had occasionally been deployed together, and Ghost rarely associated with you when if wasn't on a mission, always acting aloof.

"Gotta stay focused, soldier. Especially in these circumstances."

"I'm not a soldier, you know," you remarked, daring to roll your eyes as he had his back turned. "I don't have the training that you have had, or the experience. I'm just a rookie."

"All the more reason for you to stay focused," he repeated matter-of-factly. "So, get a grip, soldier, because that's what you are now. If you don't have what it takes to survive, might as well lay down on the ground and wait to die."

And those working dynamics hadn't changed whatsoever after the outbreak.

The outbreak of a virus.

Almost the whole human population was wiped out by a world-wide epidemic, a plague that could not be cured.

The virus gave those infected the ravishing urge to purge anything living, a diseased mind wanting to spread its disease.

Like a parasite, it sucked out all of your life essence, your conscience fading as your body deteriorated, until had degenerated beyond repair.

Rabid like a stray dog, you would no longer be human. True, you were still you, yet you weren't you, only a monster in human form.

A corpse, violent and violently out of control, driven by animalistic instincts; instincts to kill, and to ravage fresh, human flesh like a savage, ripping apart meat off bone with sharpened canines.

Out of 8 billion people, 2 billion had been killed by the military's efforts to reduce the spread of the disease, while 5 billion roamed infected.

Out of the billion that survived, millions were driven to suicide, and those that remained fought and killed each other like primitives for basic necessities such as food, water, and territory. It was survival of the fittest, though few were fit mentally and many had gone mad. It would make one wonder whether there were any sane people left.

Of course, you and Ghost found out the hard way, when you two were deployed on a mission.

A mission quite unlike the few you had been deployed on before, as you two were retracing the steps of the police, trying to gather information on their whereabouts.

Shortly after police cars had arrived on scene of an emergency, communications with them were lost almost immediately.

And what's worse, was that Shepherd's forces had been supposedly involved in the incident.

You two had been dispatched by helicopter almost immediately, and upon landing, you realised that this would be the perfect opportunity to prove yourself to Ghost.

The place was strange.

Wide streets, dotted with brick buildings. Ominously flickering street lamps. The gentle drip-drip-drip of rain, collecting in shallow puddles.

Something about the streets being so deserted, no lights lit in apartment windows and nothing stirring in the alleyways, put you on edge.

Ghost, on the other hand, was completely calm, laser-focused.

A voice came through his earpiece. One of a female. "Ghost, what's your status?"

"Approximately 500m away from the target area," Ghost said robotically, scanning the surroundings like a machine. "No contact at all, and nothing out of place."

The voice hummed with satisfaction. "Good. Make sure you've got each other's backs. You never know what lurks in the unknown."

"Roger that."

"What lurks?" You asked, turning to Ghost in slight fright. "What does she mean by that?"

"Well," he shrugged. "An ambush, for one. Could be anyone hiding out in these streets. May not be as deserted as they seem."

A shrug. "But then again, you'd know that if y'had some common sense."

You two walked soundlessly ahead, footsteps in sync.

Rain dripped onto your gun, collecting into small droplets of water.

Once, you stepped into a puddle, and as your boot made ripples in the water, you swore you saw something. Something distorted in the water's reflection.

A wrinkled face, with glowing orange eyes, with sunken eye sockets and sullen cheeks, baring it's yellow teeth at you.

About to lunge at you from behind.

Whipping your head around in fright, you saw nothing there, and Ghost shot you a questioning look, a brow raised.

"What's gotten you jumping like that?"

"It's nothing. I just—" You shook your head, shaking off the fright. "—I just thought I saw someone. But there was no one there."

A dry, monosyllabic chuckle from Ghost. "Seeing ghosts, are we? Come on. Get your bloody head in the game, and focus."

You two walked ahead, yet you still couldn't shake off the sixth-sense telling you that something was wrong.

The figure you briefly caught a glimpse of made you paranoid, and you'd look over your shoulder every so often to see if something, that something, was behind you.

Nothing was, yet that didn't make the goosebumps go away, or your pulse to slow down.

Eyes closed, you breathed in and sighed. Almost immediately, you gagged in disgust.

"Eurgh! Lieutenant, do you smell that?"

Ghost quirked a brow again. "What?"

You sniffed again, and retched, tasting vomit in your mouth. "That."

The putrid odour of rotten flesh.

"You're right, I smell it," he wheezed, and fixed his balaclava. "Bloody disgusting. Smells like—"

"A dead body," you whispered.

"Dead bodies," Ghost corrected. "That isn't just one corpse. No corpse smells like that. There's gotta be a heap of these, all rotting away."

A chill went down your spine. "So you're telling me that all of the policemen just... died? On the spot? And they've just been rotting here, despite it bringless than a few hours?"

Ghost shrugged offhandedly. "Sure seems that way, don' it? Though, I admit, I'm jus' as lost as you are on this one."

Sighing deeply, and beckoned you with his head. "Come on. Let's keep going."

Looking back down, you immediately you noticed it.

A thick, magenta mist swirling from the ground and rising into the air, swiftly shifting into shapeless shapes.

It slithered like a snake up your leg, neither a fog nor a gas, but instead behaving like a liquid.

You were mesmerised, and couldn't help but take in in, if not but for a moment.

Out of nowhere, a snarling creature was sprinting straight at you, with those same glowing orange eyes.

Baring its sharp teeth at you, it had a crazed look in its eyes, pupils dilated and its sceleras blood red.

Sprinting straight at you, you realised.

Before it could register to you what was happening, what that thing was, and what to do, a single bullet went through the creature's head, straight through between its eyes.

"Godamnit, soldier!" Ghost yelled. "For Chris' sake, you should have been paying attention. You have a gun, so bloody use it, will you?"

Shook by what you saw, you had to protest: "Yes, but Lieutenant, did—"

"No 'but's," he snapped. "Eyes on the back of your head at all times, don't I tell you enough already?"

Still shaken, you tried again to physically shake off your nerves, in vain, and steadied the rifle in your hands.

"N-no. You're right, Lieutenant. You tell me enough already."

Looking down at the swishing mist, you still couldn't shake off the goosebumps on your arms.

Walking slightly behind Ghost, he suddenly stopped in his tracks, armed and ready.

He held a hand out to tell you to be quiet, and stepped aside.

Your eyes widenened.

Police cars toppled over, some completely destroyed by a rocket launcher, in a circle clumped on one side.

Shrapnel and sharp glass lay scattered on the ground, while guns were carelessly left behind.

Further along, army vans and trucks were parked, abandone. Doors left ajar and windows half-closed, as if the people there had struggled to escape, and left at the last second.

There were thick, black tyre marks from the wheels of one of these trucks leading north, that had skidded rapidly away. Away from something.

Sound of glass cracking under your foot brought your gaze to the ground. Lifting your boot, you saw what looks to be a vial. The contents were empty.

"Bloody hell..." Ghost shook his head, and, calm and composed, put two fingers to his ear piece. "There's been a shootout here, but no bodies. Any updates?"

No response.

Ghost's fingers moved to his earpiece again. "Ma'am, I repeat, there has been a shootout here, but there are no bodies. Do you copy?"

Nothing.

A cold chill tickled your spine, only this time, your body temperature dropped by degrees.

"Lieutenant, something's not right."

"More like everything is not right. Haven't you noticed?"

You gaped at him stupidly. "Wh-what?"

"That there's no bodies. Look around."

Ghost was right — not a single corpse was on ground.

It was as if everyone here had ceased fire and fled, dispersing into all directions, not caring at all whether they had been shooting at each other moments before.

There was sudden rumbling from the distance, and under your feet.

For a second, you thought it was an earthquake at the way the ground shook so forcefully.

You two looked into each other's eyes, Ghost's dark brown ones wide with alertness, while yours were wide in fear.

Soon, it dawned on you that it was not an earthquake. It was the stomping of feet, running in unison. A stampede.

"What the—?"

A cacophony of high-pitched screeching echoed from the othet side of the street.

Finally, you saw them on the horizon.

Dozens, at least fifty or more, were running right at you both.

Some, were limping, their broken leg trailing behind them like dead weight, yet still were driven by the fire in their eyes.

Most, however, were sprinting straight to you with inhuman speed, sprinting faster than any Olympic athlete could have done.

Horrified, you stared, having never seen such a sight in your whole life. If it had not been for Ghost shaking you violently, you'd have stood there, like a deer in headlights, yapping jaws of imminent death just a few yards away.

"Bloody hell, soldier! Snap out of it!"

Rescued from your trance, you had no idea what to do. You hadn't enough magazines to kill so many. There was nowhere to hide, you thought.

"Back to the chopper, now!"

Ghost pulled your arm, yanking you beside him, and you two bolted from where you came, you dropping your rifle in your haste to get away.

Adrenaline coursed through your veins, energising you in a way you had never been before.

Your sudden stamina shocked you, but you had nothing else on your mind, your mind screaming at you to run! Run! RUN!

Your feet were moving so fast that they were a blur. When you dared to look back, you nearly tripped over your own feet. The was horde less than fifty metres away.

Ghost had broken off into a full sprint at the sight of the helicopter, still on the ground, and you had been filled with hope.

Then you saw from the distance that the pilot that had piloted you here was slumped in the front seat. Two zombies had gotten to him and had ravaged him mercilessly, his jugular gushing blood, his collarbone protruding as they tore through skin and muscle.

Without thinking, Ghost pulled them off the corpse, and shot each in the head.

He spared a second's worth of mourning for the man, before pulling him out from the front seat and setting his body at the back compartment.

When you caught up to him, the horde was nearly nipping at your heels. "Fuck, Lieutenant! What are we gonna do?!"

Without warning, Ghost shoved you inside, manic. "For fuck's sake, get inside already!""

Your eyes widened in fear. "Do you even know how to pilot this thing?!"

Ghost slammed the helicopter doors, while you had a death grip on. "'Course I know how to pilot this bloody thing! I was part of the Special Air Service. I know what I'm doing."

Fiddling a little with the controls, and furiously mashing a few buttons, you miraculously got into the air.

The flight had heavy turblence. Ghost nearly crashed the thing into a tall building, yet managed to swerve in time.

And with that, you two were off. Panting, gasping for breath, gasping at the horrific scene that replayed like a movie reel.

Yet, it was awfully quiet, a contrast to the loud thoughts inside your head.

Just the whirring of the helicopter blades and the purring of the engine.

Finally, after what felt like ages, the tornado of thoughts and the narrow escape from storming, snarling creatures all headed for you as fast as whirlwind, metres away from throwing themselves and taking you to the ground, tearing you apart, you calmed. Calmed yourself enough to the point where you were no longer in a hysteria.

"S... Sir?"

He grunted in acknowledgment, not bothering to correct you this time, eyes staring fixedly ahead of him and piloting the helicopter in silent concentration.

"S-so—" Stuttering, because you were shuddering at the premise of what had just happened, shivering from a continuous cold chill and persistent goosebumps.

"—So, uhm, wh-what— what do you think happened back there?"

For a few agonisingly long moments, Ghost was agonising quiet, clearly contemplating what was at hand. The quiet was deafening.

"Listen. If I'd had to hazard a guess—" Ghost began, still staring ahead of him solemnly. "—I'd say those were zombies."

When he turned around to spare you a glance, your dumbstruck expression seemed to frustrate him.

"Fuck, what's with that expression, soldier? If that mouth of yours is open for any longer you'll bloody catch flies."

"Z— zombies?"

Although recovering slightly, enough now to speak steadily, you were dumbfounded.

"Y-you can't be serious. You've gotta be taking the piss!"

His eyes narrowed, and he glared in warning. "Think I've lost my head? Christ, you haven't ever watched a zombie apocalypse movie, or summat? The resemblance was uncanny. Those were not humans."

Tilting your head in confusion and curiosity. "You watch... Zombie movies?"

"Oh for crying out loud—" He pinched his temple in frustration. "—I'm telling you that we're in some serious shit, that there might even be an ongoing apocalypse, and you're more moved by what I apparently watch in my free time? Bloody hell—"

After a thoughtful pause, you turned to him, eyebrows furrowed. Suddenly serious.

"It doesn't make sense, though."

"Sure it does," he growled. "Life doesn't imitate art. Art imitates life. There had to have been inspiration somewhere."

"You're still going on about those zombie movies?" You groaned, tempted to face-palm yet to scared to be so blatantly disrespectful. "No. I mean, why? Why have people become zombies?"

He let out an unamused chuckle. "God, could you be more dense, you?"

"What was the reason we went on this so-called operation? Think. Think this one time, as I can you don't do it often enough."

Rolling your eyes, you immediately froze in the spot, eyes wide.

It hit you, that there could, could, be a connection. If Shepherd's men really were involved in the shootout, then...

"Look, I didn't tell you," you said, swallowing. "I stepped on what looked to be a test tube. Or a vial, I'm not sure. It had purple stains on it."

"A sample of the virus that went wrong?" Ghost proposed. "I suppose it wasn't meant to be airborne. They used it as a last ditch effort to get the cops off their tails."

"How can you be so sure that is what happened? What if it was just a mistake?"

Ghost turned around, arm slung around the back of the adjacent seat, and his eyes were dark. With a mocking tone: "Oh yes, because genetically engineering a virus that causes people to eat other people was obviously a mistake. And the shootout was just a slip of people's fingers."

You crossed your arms indignantly, annoyed, and Ghost took advantage of your offense by continuing:

"By now, they've definitely made adjustments. Engineered it so they have more control over it."

Despite being annoyed, you audibly gulped, your defiant demeanour dropping instantly. "Y-you sure, Lieutenant? I-I mean— how can you be sure of this?"

Wordlessly, dark brown eyes darkening, Ghost said: "Positive."

Turning around, his shoulders tensed up suddenly. "I'm just prayin' that I'm wrong."

For close to half an hour, you two were flying back where you came from.

From afar, the base, with its several camps and adjourning buildings, temporary tents that had become permanent ones due to the lack of time to put them down, military trucks parked in neat rows, vehicles just as they had stood when you departed, untouched, stood like an imposing monolith, despite being far wider than it was tall.

There was none of the usual commotion, however, the hustle and bustle of people rushing to and fro, the stamping of feet and the grunts of effort from the distance as soldiers took part in drills, of purring car engines and whirring helicopter blades transporting soldiers on a distant mission. It was quiet.

Upon landing, you looked back at the corpse in the back compartment, and swallowed air, throat bobbing strenuously.

"Lieutenant... what are we going to do about... him?"

Ghost, after a few moments of studying you closely, murmured: "Take the body back to his family, of course."

You furrowed your brows. "Didn't you say we may be in an ongoing apocalypse?"

Sighing deeply, Ghost's shoulders sank. "I did. But I've been prayin' that I'm wrong, and jumped to conclusions. Maybe this fella has a family to return to. Doesn't seem right to leave him to rot, does it?"

Right at the entrance, you two exchanged an uneasy look at each other. Neither of you were saying a word.

Tentatively stepping through the threshold, you held your breath.

It was a good thing you did. The stench — the odour of death and decay — made you gag.

You had not imagined anything, refused to imagine what it would be like inside. And, inside, it was worse than you could have possibly imagined:

Bodies were slumped against walls, crumpled up in heaps on the floor. Guts were splayed on the floor. Half-eaten intestines and pools of blood, right where the corpses were.

Many had fear stamped on their faces, with wide, frightened eyes and gaping mouths, and flies had been swarming to the soft tissue of the eyes and tongue until they fleed from your presence.

Some had already been infected, dead yet living, and were feeding off the rotting flesh of the victims with a crazed look in their glowing orange eyes, flashing like a cat's.

Their fingers were gnarled. Had skin peeling off their hands, revealing tendons and bone, nails morphed into claws.

Others had not fought without a struggle, it seemed; guns were held by the dead in a deathly grip, empty cartridges and bullet casings were littered on the floor, and some even had grenades in the palms of their hands, having had not reacted quickly enough to pull the pin and launch them at approaching hordes.

Some of the zombies were laying, lifeless, with a bullet between their eyes, others with wounds in their abdomen and chest. Black blood oozed out like sticky goo.

Ghost stood as still as a statue, taking everything in. Wordlessly, he unholstered his pistol and walked towards the nearest creature.

And shot it right in the head.

A mercy kill, to put whoever the monster had been before its infection out of it miserable suffering, its mortal torment.

He would do the same with the rest. A few of them even looked up at him, dazed, not knowing what was coming for them, and hissing malevolently, before a deafening bang rang out and echoed down the hall.

When Ghost was done, he was panting, out of breath as if he had run a marathon.

Although he did his utmost to keep his breathing steady, each exhale was shaky, feeling like at any moment the air in his lungs would vanish.

"The virus," He said through gritted teeth. "It is here. It's real."

Hands clenched into fists, he was actually trembling. "It is real."

For an agonisingly long time, Ghost had his back to you, yet with the way his shoulders were slumped and his back hunched forward, he was forlorn.

Feeling like it was wrong for you to speak up, yoy hesitated, your voice barely above a whisper:

"Lieutenant? What do we do now?"

Ghost didn't respond. His shoulders rose and fell with each shaky exhale, doing everything he could to stay composed.

"...Sir?"

Cautiously, you tip-toe'd towards him, hesistant to speak up again.

He sensed your presence, and slightly turned his head around so he could see you in his periphery.

Surprisingly, Ghost was incredibly calm in the way that he turned to you. His breathing was steady now, and he no longer let out laboured breaths. It was almost like he was back to his usual self. This trauma would become nothing more than a mere memory, another one to stack on top of the memories that were emotional baggage he carried on his shoulders.

Staring straight into your eyes, his voice was quiet, but he spoke directly. Assertively.

"'s you an' me, now, soldier. We're all we've got."

And that was that. That was all there was to it.

You and Ghost were lone survivors.

No one had survived the ambush, despite having double-checked every cupboard, every barricaded room.

Those inside had gotten bit without realising in their bid to stay alive, to survive, and instead of human survivors, you'd be faced with surviving zombies that you would have to put down. One at a time.

Something told you that maybe, just maybe, Ghost's intuition was right.

That Shepherd had unleashed this disease, right here, as a means of destroying their opposition quickly, to clear their names.

After all, with everyone dead or infected by a virus that made them lose the capacity for human thought, who would be there to oppose them?

The reality that likely, very like, this was true, made your stomach churn.

That a corrupt individual with a mega corporation would corrupt humanity rather than bringing salvation, sickened you.

Had he even known the chaos that would ensure?

Ghost, having hauled canisters of fuel into the closest military truck, slammed the door closed.

With you two inside, in a single motion, he started the engine, and pressed his foot on the pedal, pulling out slowly.

In hesitation, for a minute, his hands shook, knuckles on the steering wheel turning white from how tightly he gripped it.

You didn't say it out loud, but you thought it was ironic: hours earlier, Ghost had been hellbent on making his way back to base, had even saved a comrade's corpse with the promise of restoring his dead body to his family members, yet now, he was creating as much distance between it and the both of you as possible, not turning back even once. Could not turn back, as there was no family for that man to be restored to, and no one, no one, to turn back to.

Weeks passed — or were they months? The days merged into one blur, indistinguishable from each other.

Encountering zombies became day-to-day to you. The ones you encountered could be shot straight through the skull. The parasite fed off the brain, feasted off mortal thoughts, yet with just one pull of the trigger it would die on the spot.

Fighting off a third, fifth, seventh, eleventh, nth small horde, no longer struck the same fear in you. You had quickly adjusted to the circumstances. Your new life.

You two spoke little in the beginning. Quite frankly, there was little to say.

How could one approach this subject? Of imminent doom following this global doomsday? Of having lost colleagues, comrades, in a single instant, and not even having been able to help, to even witness it, because you two were assigned on a mission that had been pointless in the end?

Sure, you knew who was to blame. So what? What was there to do with this information? Vengeance was not the answer anymore, as surviving was the priority. Besides, you didn't even feel vengeful. All you felt was numbness, and the burden of this knowledge that should have been forbidden.

Walking through various locations, all abandoned and lifeless, a wave of déjà vu would crash into you, flooding you with memories of what cities used to be like.

Seeing cars all in one cluster, stuck forever in a traffic jam, metal heavily rusted and weak gusts of wind made it all the more eerie. Especially more eerie, given what the cars had been lined up to do. To escape.

The quiet unnerved you. Filled you with dread. You dreaded the silence, yet flinched at sudden sounds.

Echoes of screams were brought by the wind, whimpering voices begging to be freed, begging the callous soldier in front of them not to shoot them, their children, promising that they weren't infected, they swear! Alas, kneeling, facing a brick wall, they'd be shot. One at a time.

The best thing about walking through these locations was that the two of you never saw the chaos, the catastrophic damage, the devastation, all happening in real-time. That, in a sense, was also the worst thing about this apocalypse.

You two were not associated with the events, and, realising that you'd never experience what millions of other people had collectively experienced in those moments, their final moments, left you disassociating for hours at a time, your feet walking on their own.

Something about seeing the cities stood still, frozen in time, a relic of the past, that fateful day of panic and fear preserved in a time capsule, and unaltered. Untouched. So unlike what they had been not so long ago, made you shudder. To think that it used to be lively, full of life, and so lifeless now, was a surreal feeling.

It made you feel out of place. As if you shouldn't have been there.

You had to be there, though. Supplies would rarely last and food in your surroundings was scare.

Ghost seemed to know exactly what to do. He led you towards the dilapidated pharmacies and the rundown convenience stores, most of what was left of the medication and tinned goods thrown onto the floor, piled in heaps.

What remained of past haphazard searches from other wandering individuals, was scattered. It made you wonder whether those people that took the supplies from where you were were still alive, and if not, how shortly after they had died.

Over time, you two became comfortable in each others's company, as you had become so uncomfortable with the mutual silence, you sought comfort in each other's presence.

And, although Ghost wouldn't have ever admitted it, the truth was, he was in desperate need of comfort, too, regardless of who you two used to be to each other before all of this.

Ghost's icyness thawed, and he came out from his shell, slowly.

Soon, though, his sarcasm wasn't directed at you as much, and you two could actually exchange banter, meaningless puns with the most God-awful punchlines, as a past-time.

Warming your hands over a small fire, you'd quip: "Lieutenant, what do you call a dictionary that smokes weed?"

A huff, his attention fixated on handling his rifle, wiping down the remains of a carcass that had splattered onto it. "I'd rather not know."

You had a shit-eating grin on your face, like a Chesire cat's. "High definition."

Ghost's eyes locked on your face, deadpan. "Fuck, that was terrible. I wish we'd go back to the times when you'd say nothin'."

Back to silence you two returned.

A heavy burden was on your shoulders, weighing the two of you down.

Out nowhere, Ghost spoke up. "Y'know why an oven and an microwave broke up?"

You rose an inquisitive brow, tilting your head in interest. "Why?"

"They argued frequently, and jus' overall weren't on the same wavelength."

You were mildly disappointed. "That... was your idea of joke? Really?"

"Hold your horses, soldier. Y'didn't even hear the actual reason as to why they broke up."

A deep sigh, shoulders sinking in an exaggerated movement, and you rolled your bored eyes playfully. "Ugh, go on, then."

In a deadpan voice: "They broke up, because neither of them could be turned on anymore."

"Oh my God!" You groaned. "That was so gross! I can't believe you said that!"

"What can I say?" A shrug, still deadpan. "I'm just hilarious, and you're not. Clearly, you don't have what it takes to be a comedian like me."

"It was not remotely funny at all! Did not even laugh!"

Ghost leaned in, his voice low. "But you're smilin'."

"Okay, okay, fine. It was a little funny!"

"Damn straight, soldier. 'Course it was."

To you, you two were closer.

Although Ghost was still his brooding self, and put up his gruff front, you knew otherwise.

You were shocked by him when one day he told you to drop the formalities.

"Look, having you address me as Lieutenant now seems redudant. Call me Ghost."

"Lieutenant, I—"

"Come on, soldier. I want to hear you say it."

You swallowed. "Gh-Ghost?"

"Thas' it," he said with a drawl. "You're learning. 'S about time, isn't it?"

Yet the warmth that radiated off him now could not be mistaken for anything else.

You thought you two had formed a bond. You really thought you had.

Bonded over the shared fear, the shared experienced, your shared journey to nowhere.

Which is why you hadn't understood why would Ghost leave you for an hour every couple of days.

For exactly an hour, it seemed. You didn't know, because you didn't have a working watch, but Ghost was punctual, so you assumed that it was true.

Like clockwork, he'd leave at a specific time, and come back an hour later, refusing to explain what he had been doing on his excursion.

"Jus' 'ad somethin' to do," he'd reply briefly, and return to what he had been doing before he left.

"This 'something' — couldn't I have done it with you, Ghost?" You'd eye him, hands on hips, eyebrows furrowed in suspicion. "And what is the need for that bag? You're gonna break your back carrying that thing with you all the time!"

Without fail, he would bring along his backpack, which was in all actuality a heavy dufflebag slung over his shoulders. A bag too big to be carrying for a small errand, you thought.

He'd glare at you, and act defensively, huffing. "I can handle it on my own, don't worry your little head, a'right? I can manage."

"You know," You'd say, tone softening. "I worry about you, okay? It worries me not knowing where you are, and what you're doing."

After a pause, his eyes would slowly crinkle in a smile, and his tone would soften, too. "Yeah, but I know where you are, don't I?" His voice dropped to a low murmur, a gentle hand on your shoulder reassuring you.

You were stunned. Here he was, touching you, when he had always recoiled at the faintest brush of a shoulder. You were blushing.

"Just stay put for me for the one hour of the day, yeah? You don't need to worry about me, soldier. I know what to do."

With him gone, you'd be worried sick. You felt not helpless — you trusted Ghost, and knew that he'd protect you — but useless, sitting there idly, practically twiddling your thumbs, not knowing what he was getting up to.

This went on for God knows how long. Each time, he was oddly secretive, and act as inconspicuous as possible so you wouldn't be suspicious of whatever he was doing.

Each time, he had made it back at exactly the same time, hurried footsteps hurrying back to your temporary hideout and going back to cooking a can of something over a crackling fire.

It was so strange, as it seemed to become routine to him, his movements mechanic, and his depature precise down to the last second. Robotic. Like clockwork he'd make it back.

Unable to take the mystery anymore, you followed him. Not close enough to blow your cover, yet far enough so that you'd always catch him taking a corner before he'd walk out of sight.

It wasn't long after walking through winding alleys that you came across a building — the tallest one in the surrounding area, in fact.

Climbing up the staircase, two flights behind him, you reached the rooftop, and watched from afar as Ghost unpacked his large bag.

It puzzled you seeing him take out technical equipment. Cables, a power pack, a rudimentary router. Alongside other hardware foreign to you, mouth agape at the sight of such prehistoric technology, there was radio.

Before you put two-and-two together, there he was, listening to the same radio with bulky headphones, a cracked red bulb blinking weakly.

Intrigued, you creeped a few steps.

When you were behind him, you leaned forward, arms behind your back. "Ghost, what are you listening to?"

He jumped up, startled, and immediately turned it off. For the first time ever, you saw him flustered.

"Was it music?" you teased. "A heavy metal fan whose blown their cover now? Maybe even a trash pop enjoyer? I mean, If you're into that sort of thing, you don't have to keep it secret, you know."

He coughed, clearly caught off-guard by the sight of you expectedly leaning down to him, but shook his head vehemently.

After pulling himself together, he looked you in the eye. "No."

"Aw, then what was it? Were you listening to radio static? It's my favourite song, you know."

"If you're gonna be such a smartass, then there's clearly no need for me to tell you."

You shook your head, smile vanishing. "Okay, wait! I was just messing. Please tell me?"

"I discovered Price's signal," he grunted as a matter-of-factly, quirking a brow at your gobsmacked face.

"Been communicating with him these past few weeks. Said Soap an' Garrick are with him, an' they're still with him."

"Oh my God!" You clasped a hand over your gaping mouth, gawking at him in shock. "That's amazing!"

"Mhm," he hummed. "They've told me their coordinates, and update every couple of days, when the sun is highest in the sky."

"When's that?" You said eagerly. "Maybe I could speak to them, too! Tell me when!"

Shrugging off-handedly. "Depends on the day." he said simply.

Barely able to contain your excitement, you didn't catch on to his innuendo, and couldn't help but exclaim: "So you could regroup! Right? You could reunite with the Task Force?"

A stone-sized lump got lodged in his throat, and his Adam's apple struggled to swallow it.

Yet, he managed to nod, though with his neck so stiff it looked as if he was shaking his head at the same time.

"Yeah, soldier. Yeah. I could."

You furrowed your brows. "Well, what's stopping you?"

"Well," he replicated, "they're thousands of miles away. That's the whole point of this journey, don't you think? What, you think we've been trekking aimlessly?"

Ghost said no more, and you were glad you didn't have to, either, a lopsided smile sheepishly tugging at the corners of your lips.

He busied himself with dismantling his set-up, putting his equipment away.

"Come on." He heaved himself up, and, with a stiff hand on your back, led you towards the way out. "About time we get out of here, hm? I'll see if I can contact the lot tomorrow."

"Okay," you said, grinning. "I daresay, though, your equipment is kinda out-dated, Ghost. Maybe we could pop in the hardware shop for some upgrades?"

He let out a monosyllabic chuckle, the usual for him. "Sure. We could even upgrade our TV to a 4K flatscreen one. Get with the times, and all that."

One day, though, he hadn't made it back at the same time.

Maybe he got caught up in conversation this time. That was it, surely! Surely that was it?

Leg bouncing in agitation, anticipating his return, you had a sinking feeling that this time, however, this time, something was not right.

You could say that you let your curiosity get the better of you. But you wouldn't have called it that, more like your trepidation clouded your rational judgement.

As, turning a corner, you hadn't even heard the feral snarling of a small horde of zombies over the voice incessantly telling you to find Ghost, and had no clue that you'd be pinned down by a zombie.

It lashed and thrashed at you wildly, bearing it's stained rotten teeth and sallow, black gums.

Harsh spit sprayed your face, and to your horror, the others had surrounded you, growling in hunger.

You had mere seconds to act, you knew that. If you didn't pull out your gun in time, you'd be torn to pieces in mere seconds.

Yet, paralysed with fear, all you could do is stare wide-eyed, you felt helpless. You locked eyes with the creature, its naturally orange eyes glowing brightly, possessed.

Just before the zombie's jaws could clasp around your face, it was shot in the head.

The body crumpled on top of you, knocking the wind momentarily out of you.

Peeking over the corpse, there was uproar among the horde, and they all hissed in unison, heads turning in the direction at the shot, before brain matter and bits of skin were blasted by a heavy calibre rifle.

Ringing disorientated you. Only flashes of someone's legs could be seen in your blurred vision, before you realised that you were lying on the ground, an entire pack of wild zombies around you.

Frantic, you heaved the body off you, and struggled to your feet, full of adrenaline, and locked eyes with Ghost.

Ghost was holding off the horde one-manned, and he grunted with effort as he snapped a zombie's neck while using another as a shield, his rifle shooting at a third rushing from behind you.

"For fuck's sake, don't jus' stand there like a bloody git! Shoot, soldier!"

Snapped out of from your daze, you suddenly realised just where you were, you whipped out your pistol and shot as many zombies as you could from close-range in your haste to get to Ghost.

Slitting the throat of a zombie about to throw itself at Ghost, you used up the remaining bullets in the magazine on another, and gritted your teeth as you changed mags with shaking hands.

Back-to-back to each other, you two were overwhelmed by the horde, but the close proximity to each other meant you had teamwork. Worked as a team.

You fired two bullets at two zombies, bodies crumpling into lifeless heaps, and aimed at a third.

Pulling the trigger, no shot fired. No shot was fired.

Looking down, you fumbled with the pistol, you pulled the trigger frantically, yet the bullet was jammed. Panic-stricken, you were desperate for it to fire, in despair to be in this situation, now, of all times.

Just as you looked up and felt the zombie's cold fingers lock on your shoulders in a death-grip, head about to pounce at your neck, Ghost growled and pushed you to the side like a ragdoll.

You saw nothing as you fell to the ground again, but slashed at more zombies in a frenzy, not many left now.

Killing the final one in your periphery, your head whipped around just in time to see Ghost wrestle the zombie to the ground and stomp its head, snapping the final zombie's neck in two like a twig.

Panting. Chest rising and falling, rising and falling, in painful breaths.

Ghost exhaled deep, deliberate breaths, black blood splattered all on his gear, dark blood staining his skull balaclava, his cargo pant legs, his gloved hands.

For an agonisingly long time, you couldn't catch your breath.

Finally, Ghost turned to you, looking grizzly, nearly sinister, had it not been for the dark brown eyes brightening a little and looking at you intensely.

He trudged to you in three wide steps and took you by your shoulders, shaking you a little.

"Soldier! Are you okay?"

Breath hitching in your throat at the emotion in his usually emotionless eyes, you nodded wordlessly.

You took in your surroundings and the horde you two had massacred; bodies contorted in impossible positions, heads and backs snapped in half, limbs broken so that arms and legs looked double-jointed. Orange eyes had become dull, and were no longer glowing, dim.

Looking at the ground, the zombie, its head grey brain matter and black-red mush, lay lifeless, bleeding black blood.

Wordlessly, you two two nodded, and limped back to your temporary base, completely exhausted.

It was a calm night.

A skinned hare roasting over a crackling fire, cooking the out-of-date contents of your tinned food and eating it with a dull silver spoon, you two sat in an uncomfortable silence, which was deafening. A silence that you dreaded.

Yet, the silence was far more welcome than the high-pitched screams and guttural growls of zombies from before, and you sighed deeply.

A sky so black that it cast a shadow on the trees, your surroundings, plunging you into a darkness had it not been for the lifeline of the lashing flames, There were a few twinkling stars in the sky, blinking in morse code, trying to relate a secret message to you that you missed.

With Ghost basking in the orange glow from the fire, looking so thoughtful as his unfocused brown eyes stared a thousand yards, gloved hands holding a flask with a steaming hot stew, warming his cold fingers, your first thought was that he looked alluring.

The skull-print balaclava pulled up to his nose so he could drink, days' worth of salt and pepper stubble sprinkled on his jaw, the sleeves of his hoodie riding up to reveal scars that caked his skin, most deep, some shallow, some recent while most years' old.

To you, he looked handsome.

Then, mortified by this thought, you shook your head vehemently, the warmth on your cheeks coming not from the fire.

Looking down at the half-eaten tinned slop in your hands, you suddenly lost your appetite, and set it aside.

Ghost noticed, and turned to you, about to ask you, but you held up a hand before he could interrogate you.

"I'm alright, Ghost," you said, convincing yourself more than him. "Not feeling hungry."

"You gotta get somethin' down your system, soldier. We've a long journey to go yet."

"I know. I mean, not to be a picky eater, but eating canned slop is not appealing to my taste buds."

Ghost let out a huff. "What? This cuisine not suited to your sophisticated taste, soldier? My bad, let me bring out the caviar, your highness," he deadpanned.

You roll your eyes. "You're hilarious, you know that? If only there wasn't a booing crowd throwing tomatoes at you. You'd be a top-tier comedian."

The corner of Ghost's lip twitched upwards, before he shot you a one-sided smirk. "Knew you'd come around eventually."

You didn't know why, but the way his jaw moved in the smirk was attractive. Physically shaking this thought off, you shook your head with a smile, unable to contain the silent laughter of your shoulders.

Again, you two returned to a silence. Funnily enough, this one wasn't uncomfortable like the one before, even with the light banter moments ago. This silence was unbearable, like the high-pitched screeching of tinnitus in an empty hall.

You stared at Ghost, almost in anticipation, as if it was he who was the reason for the unspoken change in atmosphere, yet he seemed to ignore you, too taken with looking ahead of him thoughtfully.

Swallowing the dryness in your throat, too awkward to initiate conversation, you looked at the fidgeting hands, picking at the dirt under your nails.

When Ghost unexpectedly called your name from the dark, you nearly jumped out of your skin.

"What's wrong, Ghost?" You asked, worry etched into the lines in your face.

"I need you to do me a favour."

At that, your eyebrows rose to your hairline, then furrowed in surprise and suspicion. Ghost, was not, not, the one to ask for favours.

"...O-okay? What's the favour?""

"Look." He stated simply. "I want you to promise me something. You can do that, can't you, soldier?"

You were becoming even more suspicious. What was the need for him to be enigmatic? Your interest was piqued, however, and you nodded wordlessly, hanging on his every word.

"I want you to promise—" He coughed into his fist, clearing his throat roughly. "—that when I'm ever, ever to turn into one of these..."

"...things—" Shivering, which surprised you, given how much heat was radiated from the fire. "—then... Then I want you to shoot me dead, a'right?"

Your jaw dropped to the ground, so taken aback not even by his request, but his bluntness.

"What— what do you mean, shoot you dead? How could I do that to you? I can't—"

"No." He interrupted, definitive. "It will have to be done at some point."

"Of course, I wish I could... avoid, this situation, but, inevitably, it's inevitable," he grimaced, tugging at his collar in an awkward gesture that was unlike him.

"And you have to do it when the time comes. No hesitation. No second-thoughts. Just pull that trigger, and put one right between my eyes."

Ghost stared at you, eyes stern. "Now promise me."

You stammered. "B-but—"

"No. Promise me now. That you'll protect yourself from the monster I'll become."

"Ghost—"

"No, promise."

His eyes penetrated yours, his gaze inescapable and domineering. Clearly, he would not let you weasel your way out with any weak excuses, or your pathetic reasoning. It was evident that no matter what you were to say, Ghost would refuse to listen, only becoming more dismissive.

Reluctantly, you found yourself nodding, breathing out a breathless: "I promise."

Ghost hummed in satisfaction, pleased, and said no more.

"Good. See, wasn't so hard now, was that, hm?" He asked, yet you said nothing.

"Hey, cheer up..." Tone softening, as he reached a callous hand to place on your knee in an attempt to reassure you. "It's not like I'm asking you to do it now."

You sniffed fiercely, eyes glassy. "Then why would you ask me in the first place?"

"Why? Because at some point, I'll turn."

He shook his head. "It won't be you, though. Never. I would never, ever, let you get bit."

His breath hitched in his throat, and your eyes widened slightly in surprise.

Ghost took a sip from his steaming flask, seemingly unfazed by the sensation of burning on his tongue. In fact, he even relished in it.

His lips were tightly pressed together into a needle-thin line. "When you shoot me, you won't be shooting me, y'know."

"Therefore, you must not let your emotions get in the way. What's the point of me getting infected, in an attempt to save your life, only for me to kill you in death?"

You pondered this over for a moment. "What makes you think you'll get infected saving me? Maybe it could the the other way around. You can't be so sure."

Ghost's eyes had an ironic glint, and flickered like a light bulb about to blow a fuse.

"Oh, trust me. I'm sure."

You sat up, straightening your back. "Hey, what is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, it's not s'pposed to mean anything."

"Hey! Are you mocking me?"

For the first time in this conversation, Ghost chuckled. He couldn't help not to, with how childishly you were acting.

"Maybe a little bit. But you just make it so easy for me, that I can't resist."

You groaned, and rolled your eyes.

"Well then, maybe resist being an ass."

Ghost quirked a brow at how you spoke, yet decided not to scold you like he always did. Instead, he offered you his flask.

"Will put hairs on your chest."

You scrunched your nose at the contents. "Let me guess: carbonated piss, vodka, and liquid shit? My favourite."

"Made an order at a cafe, and I got served this slop," he shrugged. "They even spelt my name wrong. Would you believe that?"

You shook your head in mock disbelief. "Unbelievable. You better have gotten a refund for that."

"I didn't pay. Made a beeline for the exit. I wouldn't pay a cent for this shit."

Unable to keep up the act anymore, you snorted, and stifled your silly giggles by clasping a hand over your mouth.

"It's tea." Ghost said. "I'm not thirsty, anyways."

"You gotta get somethin' down your system," you said in an over the top gruff voice. "Promise to shoot me when I get a papercut. I won't be able to go on—"

Wordlessly, Ghost placed the flask in your hands. The fact that instead of a scowl on his half-masked face was an ironic smirk surprised you, and he said:

"Drink that, and go to sleep, yeah? I'll keep watch."

"What about you, though?" Your eyes frowned. "Won't you sleep?"

"I'm good. I'm a light-sleeper, anyways, and I won't exactly get a wink of shuteye with your snoring."

"Hey—!"

"C'mon. Rest up."

Taking a swig of the hot beverage, you felt a warmness wash over your body, cleansing your soul, and heating you right from your fingertips to your ears.

"Thanks, Ghost," you said with gratitude. "You sure you'll be okay tonight?"

Ghost nodded, staring deeply into your eyes.

You sighed, and moved off the wooden log to unzip your sleeping bag to nestle inside, like a worm comfortably in a cocoon.

It didn't take you long to fall asleep, as the crackling of the flames lulled you to sleep, whispering in harsh, yet warm voices a bedtime story in the language of fire.

When he heard your soft snores and saw the way your sleeping bag rose and fell with each muffled breath, he untied his boot laces.

With you asleep, he finally dared to peel the coarse fabric that had dried with blood, like cardboard on his skin.

Wincing in pain as he pulled up the material coagulated with blood, his calf had an evident bite mark.

The skin around it had not rotted, yet, but was raw, with the surrounding flesh pulsating as if it had a human heart beat.

Gritting his teeth with each maggot that he picked out from his calf, burrowed deep in his flesh, feasting upon it, he blinked indifferently at the wound, already accepting of his fate.

The bleeding had stopped. That much Ghost had going for him, at least.

Stomping on that zombie's head was cathartic. Watching its brain matter splatter on his boot, a lifeless body with a head of grey, slimy mush, brought instantaneous relief.

Yet, when reality sunk in, and he realised that killing that zombie in that heated moment would not take back the bite mark, that moment of relief transformed into the weight of an even heavier burden on his shoulders, an added weight to the emotional baggage he had been lugging for years now.

His gaze turning to your concealed body, burrowed in your nest, he hobbled over to lay his own sleeping bag over you, and took off his coat. Tucking in the sleeves under you so you were cozy, he sighed again, and slumped on the ground some metres away.

How was he going to break this news to you? You were a smart cookie, even with the shit he gave you all of the time, and were bound to figure it out on your own.

But he couldn't. Not yet, anyways. He still had a base to get you to.

He couldn't burden you with this information. He couldn't.

Only when the end was in sight, the base on the horizon, you headed straight towards civilisation, could he make his peace with shortcomings, the way you'd sob and shout at him, how you'd curse as your fists pounded at his chest, voice so hoarse and choked with tears all you'd be able to do is sob.

Or, maybe he wouldn't at all.

Maybe the gentle breeze in your hair, sun reflected in your rolling eyes that were unamused by another humourless joke, dry, unwashed skin positively glowing in the setting sun, the cracked lips twitching in a desperate desire to stretch into a smirk, and the way your body was hunched over under the weight of your heavy backpack, head bobbing in blind, naive determination to reunite him with his team, to have been there on the journey, was not a sight he had wanted to taint.

He'd tell you to walk straight, and you'd babble obliviously on about something, and slowly withdraw from your side. You'd get swept away by the crowd in the base, with familiar faces, arms hugging you from all sides and welcoming you with warmth, as a shot rang out in the cheerful commotion, his cold body laying on the even colder ground.

When the time came to it, he would have likely said nothing. A selfish need to preserve the memory of your not knowing, of your being blissfully unaware and never being burdened with the truth, was a mercy.

Just how it would have been a mercy kill for you to shoot him when push would come to shove, just was it merciful to spare your sanity and your innocence.

When you woke up, Ghost had slowly started developing symptoms of a common flu in the night.

Nothing too alarming, yet alarmingly out of character for him to be unwell, and you raised your alarm.

"Jus' pnuemonia, soldier," he'd say, voice hoarse, before coughing into his fist.

"What about these?" You insisted, taking out medication from your backpack. "And plenty of rest? Doctor's orders!"

"These drugs that the doctor prescribes don't ever work on me. Besides, we've got places to be. I'm not wasting my time in waiting room."

This time, Ghost's sarcasm didn't amuse you like you always pretended it didn't. Worry gnawed at you from the inside like a parasite, and your eyes were pleading. "Not even for me? Please? Jokes aside, you really should rest. It's fine if we cam out here for another few days or so.

At that, his eyes softened. "Gonna 'av to bear through it. Like I would have otherwise. 'S not the end of the world."

There was an undertone to his words that was so subtle you hadn't noticed. The ironic smile betrayed nothing.

Not the end of the world for you, it wouldn't. For him, it would. His life on this world would be over. Would end.

The next day, Ghost slurred his speech.

When Ghost was speaking as you two were hunched over some grub, you'd catch drool running down his chin and collecting in pools on the sides of his mouth.

As soon as he realised where your eyes were looking, Ghost immediately went to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand.

He ate isolated from you then onwards, and would have his back turned to conceal his eating.

Sinking his steel bat into a head of an approaching zombie, he'd grunt with effort now.

Ghost, trudged rather than walked, stomping his feet, as if each foot weighed a tonne and was a weight he had to lift each time.

Feet faced in opposite directions, perpendicular to each other, and legs wobbling as if sea-sick. It meant that he was limping, as if he had a walking impediment.

"Ghost, are you okay?"

"Twisted my ankle when we were fighting that horde," he hissed through gritted teeth, voice as monotone as always. "Don't worry about me, soldier. We're going to get you to that base."

You started. His ankled hadn't been twisted when you were running away just now. But, you reasoned, it was probably the adrenaline that kept him going, that had heightened his senses yet numbed the pain.

Then, you halted in your tracks. "Base?"

"Cap'ain's base," he clarified. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead.

He was limping. Walking like he was ineberiated, core off balance and like his legs too long for his body.

He was no longer as affectionate with you. Showing signs aggression, getting frustrated with small-talk. He'd rather grind his jaws in silence, nearly growling.

"Hey, I just— I wanted to thank you. For saving me. I mean, that day, when we were fighting that horse. You saved me."

He grunted. "Don't get used to me saving your ass all of the time."

"I won't! Really, Ghost, I'm grateful. I couldn't put it into words."

"But?" He snapped. "Spit it out."

"W-well— I mean, you should rest. For Christ's sake, you're barely able to walk! Your ankle isn't going to heal if you keep putting pressure on it! And on top of the that, you're fucking sick!"

"I've had worse. It's not like my foot will dislocate itself on its own." He snarled. "Besides; choices have consequences. I chose to save you. I could turned, and left you to the horde. But I didn't. And that had its consequences."

"Had? What are you on about? You mean has, because you damn near broke your fucking leg! You're close to a fucking cripple!"

"I can walk just fine, soldier. You're just overreacting."

"I'm overreacting?!" Your eyes bulged out of your head, and you almost erupted in fury. "Then how will your team react, seeing you like this, huh? You think they won't be overreacting, huh?!"

He gave you a death glare. "You're right, soldier. They won't be."

"Look..." you began hesitantly, wincing at his sharp voice that stabbed a dagger into your already breaking heart. "You won't die if we don't make it there by this week," you insisted, "so, won't you please rest?"

"Soldier, I won't rest until we make it there by this week." He'd smile his iconic ironic smile, one that you still couldn't interpret nor comprehend as to why. "We've not long to go. And then, I'll consider resting."

"You promise?"

He stiffened up, still as a statue.

"I don't make promises," he grunted, and stormed off.

Your heart sank.

"Hey!" You jogged up to catch up with him, taken aback by his sudden change in character. "Why not? It's not even life or death, like the promise I made to you! What's the big deal?!"

"I can't make promises," he stated as a matter of factly, almost as if it was common knowledge and he was putting it in simple terms for you to understand.

You were seething. "What do you mean you can't?!So I made you a promise, promised to shoot you, for what? For you to end up being a fucking hypocrite?!"

"I mean," he emphasised. "It's not in my moral code."

Almost grinding your teeth in frustration, you quipped back: "Just as it is immoral of you to withhold information! What is so immoral about you—"

Your heart sank so, so much deeper, so deep it was lost in an abyss.

In deep water, drowning.

It couldn't be true. Couldn't be.

"Oh my God."

You took two steps back. Not in fear of Simon , but in fear of the situation itself.

"...You're... y-you're bit, aren't you?"

Shoulders tensing up, Ghost moved his hand towards your shoulder in an attempt to placate you, but you flinched.

"Y-you're bit! Oh my fucking God, you're—"

You couldn't breathe. It was like you were suffocating, your head underwater.

For the first time ever, you understood the irony behind Ghost's smile.

Hyperventilating, you recoiled at each of his attempts to console you, refusing to allow him to.

"Won't you calm down, soldier? It's alright."

Ghost was beginning to lose his temper. "Calm down," he hissed. "We can talk about this."

"FINE! Let's fucking TALK!"

Ghost was walking ahead of you, walking so fast that you were out of breath jogging after him.

Doubled-over wheezing for oxygen, you looked up with a heaving chest. You two had reached a wide warehouse, making up for its lack in height it its width.

The metal around the door hinges had heavily rusted to the point that it took kicking a side-door down until it finally gave enough lee-way to slither inside through the small gap made.

Brown eyes darkened, and narrowed at you. "Inside."

You shot him a scowl, tempted to give him the middle finger, but backed out at the last second, realised it would be childish.

As you two were inside the warehouse, the bolt tightly shut behind you and all windows and doors locked, ensured that the place was completely abandoned, and barricaded the entrance as a safety precaution... you two got into a screaming match.

"SO?! Are you going to FUCKING tell me why you chose to say nothing?!"

"About me being bitten? Really? And what would me having told you sooner changed, huh?"

"Uh, HELLO! You're fucking infected! You were bitten by one of those zombies, and that was, what? A WEEK ago?"

"It was because this is the exact type of interaction that I was dreading. For fuck's sake, rookie, I knew you'd blow y'fucking lid like this! What sort of a soldier bloody are you if you can't fucking calm yourself?"

"Oh, me?! Blow MY fucking lid?! How fucking dare you! You're the one always calling me a fucking soldier when I'm not!"

"Fuck, don't you get it? It's your own damn fault for being so goddamn reckless!"

You seized up, eye twitching. Positively seething.

"What— what did you say?"

"For fuck's sake, I told you, didn't I? I fucking told you to stay put!" Ghost yelled. "There of course had to be an itch in your ass and of course you had to go bloody wandering, straight into danger!"

You couldn't believe what you were hearing. "What, so you're fucking blaming me for you being infected? Is— is that it?"

"Wait, no—" Ghost immediately backtracked. "—you're misinterpreting what I fucking told you!"

"No, I interpret it loud and clear," you said, tone dripping with venom. "It's my fault. I get it. It's my fault for wanting to get involved. My fault for fucking caring about you, because I was worried sick and worried whether this outing would be your last—!"

Tears of fury were streaming down your faces in rivers, a waterfall of emotions all crashing into you at once.

You sniffed angrily, and avoided his eyes, feeling vulnerable. "I-I— I care about you, Ghost! Don't you get it? I have always cared!"

"I just guess—" Your wobbly, cracked voice, blotchy cheeks, quivering lip, and puffy pink eyes made you look pathetic, you knew.

You didn't care. Feelings pent up for far too long now came hurtling out along the floodgates, and you were in utter despair.

"—I-I just guess I never should have cared, should I?"

Ghost stared at you with a steely gaze, stoic and remorseless.

"Well. I told you to keep work strictly professional, didn't I, rookie? What can I say, aside from, it's your own fault?"

He stormed off before you could call after him, slamming the nearest door in this workhouse and locking it from the inside.

You sobbed, feeling more pathetic than ever, and crumpled on the floor in a disgarded heap, like a pile of trash.

Ghost slammed his fist against the door.

"Goddamnit—"

Keeping work strictly professional his ass.

He fell in love with you. How could he not have?

Always trying to hard to break down the walls that he'd stubbornly keep building, brick by brick, you tore down those walls.

Like a human bulldozer, you demolished his reinforcements, and his bare scaffolding, his vulnerability, were exposed to you.

The moment him and you returned to base, he was hit with a gut feeling.

That, at that moment in time, it was truly you and him left. There was no one to save, no one to save you. No one to save you, aside from him. Realising that it was he, he the only one who could get you to safety, and no one else.

And he hated you.

It wasn't a hatred, or a loathing. You gave him no reason to, and were none the wiser.

He never hated you, never. It was you that he hated, the one that broke down his reinforcements and rekindled the fire inside that had been ashes.

With every time he pushed you away, kept you at arm's length, he found himself pining for you more.

And he hated you. Hated you because he loved you.

He hated your voice because it soothed him like a mother's voice would her own child.

It didn't matter when you cursed, when you hissed harshly at him in a mock anger, when you sniffed and your nose twitched. All these things about you made you human, and he realised that even if humanity was lessened, humanity was less, there was still humanity in you.

And it made Ghost feel not like a ghost, a haunting phantom, of the Simon Riley he was, but the Simon Riley he ought to be. Your Simon Riley.

He hated you because you made things all the more difficult for him. If he just was to push you away, to distance himself, he thought, surely your inevitable parting of ways would be less painful.

But it didn't get any easier. Not at all.

If anything, seeing the dejected expression you would fail to hide in time, the way the sparkle in your eyes dimmed just a little after getting rejected once more, meant that gnawing guilt ate Ghost from the inside out.

He reasoned that he was doing all of this for your own good. For his own good, too. No strings attached, with no attachment to you, your parting of ways would have been easier.

But it was this act he insisted was selfless, that was selfish. The fact of the matter was, he needed you as much as you needed him.

He hated that you made him feel this way because these feelings were dangerous.

At any moment, at any point in time, you could be ripped away from his callous hands, leaving a void that was already empty as it was.

Emptiness inside of him that only you could fill, feelings which would never again be fulfilled with you gone, and he could not bring himself to admit that regardless of how much you needed him, it was him that needed you.

Most of all, he hated you because you were the only good thing that he had left.

If you were to die, there would be no reason for him to keep living.

Yes, he had told you that he was on his own mission to track down the Task Force, but, he had known long ago that it was just a delusion he was playing into, an insane idea that managed to keep him sane as it gave him some purpose.

It was a lie he spoon-fed you, forcing you to believe in a lie that he himself was beginning to believe in, realising that at the end of the road, was would be nothing left for him.

Ghost lived for you and did everything in his power so that you too would keep living. You were just a rookie, had your whole like ahead of you, and deserved to live past his own years. Deserved to live, and outlive a person like him, as he knew that he didn't deserve to.

With that logic, he just never knew that he was willing to die for you, too.

He had cheated death once. Faced the Grim Reaper and spat in his face.

But not this time.

He swore he was hallucinating the cloaked figure in the corner of this room right now, sneering, domineering, with glowing orange eyes.

This time, he wouldn't claw his way out from his grave, the taste of blood and dirt repulsing him in his mouth and his limbs weary, yet tasting the sweet, fresh air of freedom; this time, all that he would ever taste is the dirt. Buried for good six feet under a nameless tombstone marking his grave.

As he saw his bruised leg pulsating, he couldn't control the unnatural tics, his calf twitching as maggots swarmed to feed on his decomposing flesh.

Whole body spasming painfully, his arms and legs jittered as if his limbs as if they had a severe form of arthritis, yet each involuntary contortion of his limbs brought agony, agony, agony.

The bags under his eyes had gotten bigger, hollow eye sockets with milky white eyes that had a thousand yard stare now.

Deep grey veins bulged out of his hands to his forearms, all the way past his biceps, shoulders, and neck. Throbbing in rhythm to his synthetic pulse.

Pupils were sensitive to light, and had adapted to the darkness.

Skin was far paler, sallow and sickly-looking, sagging in places and skin cells starting to peel off.

And, despite the layers of clothing he had on — a tank top under his shirt, a jacket, a hoodie, and a tactical vest, all underneath a thick winter coat — he was freezing, and constantly shivering from the cold.

Constantly cold, cold, cold.

The realisation that he was watching himself decomposing into a corpse in real-time was a horrific one.

Few times could Ghost admit he was horrified, as he had become desensitised to horror after his exposure to it from a young age, witnessing horror beyong imaginable that he was wholly unfazed by.

This, however? It was not horrifying. It was torture.

His brain, however, had self-awareness in tact and sufficient enough for rational thought.

His limbs did not do what he told them to do, though — would seize up, as if having an epileptic seizure, the feeling of writhing on the ground in agony as he was also electrocuted, imparting his movements.

It took every fibre of his being to hold off the urge to take your body in his claws and to rip it apart with his teeth.

He was a prisoner of his own body, unable to break free of the virus consuming him from the inside out, the way his cells were mutating alternating his strings of DNA, his code, coding for an intense desire for flesh. For your flesh, because you were the closest living being in his proximity.

Not to mention, that his teeth were decaying, too. Black gums bleeding, yet tongue salivating excessively even though he'd have thought his body physically incapable of producing saliva.

He yearned to bite into a chunk of your flesh, to lick his dry, coarse lips, his mouth stained with the sweet taste of your blood.

To chew on the meat of your neck, and watch in fascination as a fountain of blood sprayed from your neck like a hose, blood splattering on the walls as you screamed in agony, struggling in vain to push off the crazed monster—

Ghost let out a shaky sigh, and after a moment, regained his composure.

Looking back now, Ghost could have amputated his leg. He felt the jaws close around his ankle and sink his teeth to his bone at that exact moment, felt his skin, muscle, flesh, be torn apart by sharp canines.

As soon as you two were safe, he could have hacked off his lower leg with a saw at the abandoned warehouse you two were camping outside that night that he would have surely been able to find, no matter how rusty and the bluntness of the sharp blades.

But why? Why butcher himself? What was the point of doing all that in a frantic effort to cease the disease infecting his entire body when he'd be crippled?

He wouldn't be able to protect you. Instead, he'd be dead weight and drag you down. A burden that you'd be burdened with.

You were skilled, intelligent, and lucky, too. Yet you were only human. Your luck, as plentiful as it was bound to run out.

And, through no fault of your own, a gang of deranged lunatics would ambush you and kill you if it meant they could divide your possessions amongst each other, a horde of zombies would come storming in like a mass hurricane and devour you when you were at a dead end, succumb to starvation or, you would succumb to an injury like he was succumbing to.

He couldn't let that happen. He had to keep going, would only rest in peace when he knew you were at a secure hideout, a safe location, free of danger. At that, he'd gladly pass away, his mission completed.

And his mission would never have been completed if he had been hobbling with makeshift crutches, holding on to your shoulders for support, weighing you down with his weight and having been powerless had a zombie, zombies, found you.

Then again, he couldn't have blamed them. Just one sinking of teeth... just a small chunk of the juicy meat of your thighs or arms... j-just to quench his thirst for human flesh—

Ghost punched his arm, hard.

No. He couldn't.

The temptation was becoming too great to resist.

He could overpower you, could, but he could not do that.

To you, of all people. His love.

He had shut the door in your face. It was like driving his own dagger through his own heart at your forlorn face, but it had to be done. His love for you was dangerous.

Having these thoughts was dangerous. Not just thoughts to kill, but thoughts to kiss you, just once. Just once, before he died.

How he would have had liked to feel your lips on his, to bite down on your lower lip.

Harder, and harder, until he pried your mouth open with inhuman grip and snapped your jaw, ripping your gums with his own teeth, oh so delectable—

Ghost hurled the lone chair in the cellar.

"Godamnit!"

He was self-aware, but not self-aware for rational thought. Not anymore.

Only minutes ago had he been thinking straight. Now, he couldn't differentiate his desire for you, between his desire for your flesh.

Calmly, he limped towards the turned-over chair in the corner and set it straight, and slumped on top of it, feeling like a sack of potatoes.

It pained him knowing that the last time he would see your face would be frowning, your lower lip quivering, chin and cheeks blotchy from the salty, bitter tears of your argument.

You would blame yourself, would go on thinking that this was your fault.

It was never your fault. Never.

It was never your fault that he got bitten.

It was never your fault that he loved—

"Ghost?"

Your voice was shaky, hoarse with tears. At any moment, it seemed, anything to trigger you would cause your emotions to tip over in an explosion of anguish, and you could maintain your composure.

"Ghost. P-please come out. I'm sorry."

A muffled voice on the radio spoke to Ghost, yet he said nothing in reply.

Putting your ear to the door, the loud noise obscured much of what you could hear from the other side of the door, meaning you had no idea what was going on in there.

Yet, if you really, really concentrated, then you'd hear vague shuffling in the room, heavy footsteps moving things.

"Ghost? Please. Please come out."

You still waited.

Waited for Ghost to say something, anything, anything at all, to hear him respond, reply, acknowledge your presence at the door, to at least acknowledge the voice on the radio.

By the sounds of it, the voice was beginning to get emotional with Ghost's unresponsive state, his lack of reply, and it began emphatically ranting about something, all unintelligible from your side.

Slumping on the floor, your back to the door, your chest rose unevenly with each inhale, fell as unevenly with each mournful exhale.

You hadn't thought you'd really be mourning.

As, a sickening crack behind the door suddenly brought you to your senses.

Panic-stricken, you banged on the door with your knuckles. "Ghost, Ghost! You okay? Ghost!"

Knocking turned to hammering with your fists, afraid and desperate at the same time. Yelling repeatedly: "Ghost! What happened?" "Are you okay?" "Can I help?" "Ghost, please. Please!" "Say something!" "Please!"

The door would not budge, and no noise came out. Ghost would not respond. Or maybe he couldn't.

You resorted to kicking the door, using your entire body weight to tet it to open. To no avail.

"F-fuck—" Too desperate at that moment to care about the ringing from shooting from close-range, your hands scrambled for your pistol and shot the door handle multiple times, grimacing when high-pitched ringing in your ears was splitting your skull open louder than you could have anticipated.

Miraculously, the handle fell off. But something was in front of the door, and even with your entire body pressed against the door, the door stayed put.

Full of adrenaline at having made some progress, in your blind haste, you hurled your entire side to the door.

And, the door slid an inch, a vertical line revealing little in the room aside from the light from the awning window. It was progress.

Energised by this sudden success, you became a makeshift battering ram, not caring for the grey and green bruises already that had surely formed already all on your side.

Inch by stubborn inch, the door moved outwards.

The door flung open, and what had obstructed the door — a tall metal filing cabinet — crashed onto the ground, with yellowed paper spilling on the ground, fluttering like butterflies.

At the sight before you, you froze.

There Ghost was, sitting cross-legged on a chair.

That same skeleton mask, the same gear, the same body, true, but it wasn't him. Not anymore.

The sickening crack you heard moments before made sense now.

His jaw, dangling inanimately, was off-center. It was completely broken.

Dislocated, it seemed, through brute force. Broken with his own hands, his hands shining with wet, black blood.

His neck was strapped to an unfolded metal chair by his own belt. His chest and waist also were binded to the chair, but with with thick rope, tied intricately initially, then had devolved into a sloppy loop when the task got too fiddly.

His arms, likewise, were strapped to the arm rests, wrists handcuffed for good measure, yet Ghost's left forearm had broken out from his restraint, and his nails had scratched metal, deep claw marks in the armrest.

The radio had been loud. Loud, so it obscured the sound of his struggle.

You suddenly doubled over, hands on your knees, thinking that you were about to vomit.

It hit you, that he had been doing this while you had stood there, idle, none the wiser.

Immediately imagining Ghost thrashing around in this chair, fighting the spread of the disease, all the while you sat there idly and ignorantly, you regurgitated what you had eaten, tasting vomit in your mouth.

You gagged, groaning in disgust, but swallowed it all in one go and wiped your mouth with the back of your hand.

Torn between looking at Ghost and not looking at him at all anymore, you found your gaze gradually going down.

His ankles were also bound to the chair legs. One of his calves, however, was completely decomposed, to the point that you could see his tibula and the tendons in his foot.

An airy gasp escaped you, silent. No sound came out.

The skin around it had deep black veins, and had frayed, decayed, oozing a slimy pus, with maggots feeding off the rotted flesh. Already, flies had swarmed around his corpse through the open window.

It was clear. Using his last remains of sentience, what remained of his consciousness, his humanity, Ghost tied himself to this chair.

Yet, something must have told him that this wouldn't last. His belt, the ropes, and even his handcuffs wouldn't have been enough to hold him back.

As a last resort, be broke his jaw. You knew immediately why: as a final precaution, in order to prevent himself from infecting anyone. From infecting you. From biting you.

You were unbelievably calm processing all of this. Too devastated to move, you now understood the voice that was speaking to Ghost on the radio.

It was as if the sound was on mute, your world at a stand-still, and some higher power had unpaused this moment. Like some cinematic choice made by a director.

And the plot twist, was that it was neither the voice of Soap, Price, or Garrick. This was a stranger, a female, speaking:

"—a safe zone. Here, there is safety, and we can guarantee your protection."

You recognised that voice. It was the female commander talking through Ghost's earpiece.

"Humans have not yet gone extinct, and humanity in our safe zone exists.

"To anyone that is out there, you are welcomed. We will welcome you with open arms and tend to any and all of your wounds.

"You will be fed, will be given shelter, and will be a member of our community of survivors.

"If you are hearing this, our coordinates are ***°**′**″ N, ***°**′**″ E. Keep this channel on. We can track you, as long as you play this message.

"Every day, we broadcast this message at 1200 for an hour, just as we have done yesterday, the days before, and will continue to do so tomorrow.

"There is a safe zone. Here, there is safety, and we can guarantee your protection.

"Humans have not yet gone extinct, and humanity in our safe zone exists. There is food, water, warmth, and shelter. Close to seventeen thousand of us have regrouped — civillians, farmers, teachers, doctors, scientists, soldiers — and are rebuilding civilisation a day at a time.

"Your background does not matter. We take in anyone able-bodied and fit to contribute in any way possible.

"We have a pharmacy, with medication, with antibiotics, with inhalers and with insulin.

"To anyone that is out there, we will take you in, and you will be protected. You are not alone.

"I repeat, If you are hearing this, our coordinates are ***°**′**″ N, ***°**′**″ E.

"Every day, we broadcast this message at 1200 for an hour, just as we have done yesterday, the days before, and will continue to do so tomorrow—"

You shut off the radio.

Ghost had been lying to you.

Lied to you about the Task Force. Lied to you about the journey you two had been making.

Had lied about having been bitten, and it was only through chance that you had found this out.Ghost had been lying to you all this time.

You broke down in hysterics, your calmness taking a 180 all in the duration of seconds.

Why, why? Why didn't he tell you? Why couldn't he just tell you?

This whole motive, the reason to keep going, was all a lie. A pretense.

It was a selfless act, yet to you it, couldnt have been more selfish. How dared he keep this from you? How dared he? Why didn't he tell you the truth?

Curse you, Ghost! you thought, wailing in pain as hot tears cut your cheeks.

Vision blurred, you looked up, stricken with grief, and glanced into those milky white eyes of his.

For a moment, a wave of serene had crashed into you, and your crying calmed. Mind was tranquil.

Ghost wasn't thrashing around like a zombie would in his restaints.

Wasn't bearing his teeth, lunging forward to sink his canines into your flesh.

Wasn't letting out a guttural roar.

It was clear that he had before you entered, the restraints that did little to restrain him evidence of that.

Yet, he observed you in a docile manner, and his broken jaw made him look pathetic.

His eyes weren't glowing, neither, nor were they orange. Just white.

You had thought he was blind, as his pupils were pinpricks unresponsive to light, but his eyes followed your every movement, watched you intensely.

Completely still, he stared at you with unblinking eyes, unable to swat the flies landing on his eyeballs with his wrists cuffed. Maybe not even feeling them at all.

Perhaps you were imagining things, thinking irrationally when hysterical, but you swore there was more to those eyes. Recognition.

A hesitant hand moved towards his face, wavering yet unwavering in its purpose.

When you cupped his masked cheek, his eyes conveyed a certain sadness, and were apologetic, almost as if his eyes were apologising. Conveying an apology through his eyes that he couldn't ever had through words.

Silently pleading for forgiveness. For you to forgive him. To understand.

It was unbearable. You couldn't bear to look him in the eyes anymore. You couldn't bear this.

His eyes narrowed, gaze as penetrating in death as it had been while he was alive. Even more penetrative, almost as if seeing right through your very soul.

The promise. You had of course remembered. The promise you had made that night had weighed heavy on your mind ever since.

It was unbearable. The thought of what you had to do was unbearable.

You promised. You had promised. Even if Ghost wasn't one to make promises, you were.

Your pistol on the floor where you had dropped it while collapsing, shimmered in the slither of sunlight that broke through the crack in the window.

With effort, you stretched your arms and reached for it with all your might.

You couldn't bear to hold your gun in your hands. Hands were clammy, so your grip was weak, and fingers too weak to hold it properly.

Even with both hands, you couldn't steady the shaking, the swallowed sobs causing your throat to go dry, and to choke on oxygen.

Head turned away, waterfalls of tears streaming down your face in gushing rivers, you pulled the trigger.

And a deafening shot rung out, echoing in the cellar.

You knew what you had to do. You did.

You had promised him. Promised Ghost.

But you didn't have the strength to do it.

The bullet pierced through the handcuff restraining his other wrist.

The metal fell to the floor with a dull clang.

Ghost, mesmerised, raised his hand to stare at it, not fully registering to him that this was his own hand.

You broke his promise.

Guilt overwhelmed you, as you denied a dead man's wish.

Without looking up at Ghost, you crouched down, and with your pocket knife, began working at the thick ropes binding his body.

When you stood up, Ghost had not budged. Had not even moved a muscle. His eyes were on you, unblinking.

"Come on, Ghost," you whispered, in the same tone of voice that Ghost himself would use when he used to address you.

Eyes widening, he allowed you to pull him up to his feet, no longer towering over you like he always did with his back hunched over now.

Your eyes softened at the sight of him, fresh tears brimming at the corners of your eyes, but you wiped at them before they could fall, and smiled reassuringly at Ghost, the ways that his eyes would smile reassuring you.

"Our journey isn't over, s-s—soldier," you whispered, voice cracking.

"My journey has always been you, Ghost."

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A/N: Happy New Year guys !! 🎉🎉🎊🙌🎆🎇🎇 Startijg the year off strong with a fanfiction TWO MONTHS in the making!! 💥🥳🔫 Sure do hope all tjis work was worth it 😍, bc i SWEAR im not postijg anytjing for ANOTHER two months bc I am EXHAUSTED 😭😭😭😭💔💔💔

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bug-is-snug · 3 months

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starved pt. 2

part one

plot: you're a zombie <3 CW: depictions of violence, depictions of obsession, gore, self-cannibalism (stay safe cutiepies!), blood, gore, eventual smut (That means Minors DO NOT INTERACT), self harm (I think? I'm not sure but I'm adding it to be safe!), military inaccuracies, dead dove do not eat kinds of stuff

A/N: let me know if I missed anything with the content warnings! Also please forgive me for the terrible accents, I am but a small humble person with the brain made of v8 juice- Also some of this was written on mobile so forgive me if there are any grammar errors ^^; banner by: @frostthecupcake (deactivated) and found by using "Find A Banner"

You felt your face grow warm as your mind went back to the sight of your Captain's wrist. Well- mainly his veins...God, he had lovely veins... You imagined grabbing his arm and sinking your teeth in, tearing away at his skin and tendons with gnashing teeth...while you daydreamt you couldn't help but wonder; How sweet would his flesh taste? Shaking your head profusely, you let out a huff and continued to head off towards the barracks while ignoring the emptiness in your stomach. God, you could feel the blood running down your throat, warming you far better than any hard alcohol... "Stop it." You hissed quietly to yourself, as if you had any control over the thoughts that ran rampant in your mind, "Don't think at all, just shut up!"

Taking a moment, you lean up against the wall and desperately try to gather your thoughts. Your stomach growled almost angrily, making you let out a frustrated groan. "Hungry?" A familiar voice cooed playfully, their Scottish accent giving away their identity instantly. You look up to see Soap, your heart instantly beginning to race. Your eyes scanned over his body while your nose took in his scent, which allowed you to recognize that he had just gotten back from the shooting range, the smell of his musk and the gunpowder making your head swim. "Uh-" Christ, you sounded dumb, "Maybe? I dunno, I kinda skipped lunch today...though I do hear that your body can make you hungry when you're exhausted so- uh- maybe it's that?" ...WHAT? Where did that even come from?! What kind of stupid excuse is that?! Soap raised a brow, staring at you for a moment and giving away that he was also just as bewildered as you were over the shit you just said. "...I am going over here now." You quickly walked around him, attempting to make it to your room. "Hold on now, that dinnae make a lick o' sense. What's goin' on wi' ye?" A strong, calloused hand grasped at your forearm making your heart jump to your throat, "Ye alright, lovie?" You shuddered slightly, digging your nails into your palms as thoughts of tearing your precious teammate’s ribs apart and sinking your teeth into his heart while it still beats made you feel dizzy and your stomach ache. What would it taste like? Sweet? Savory? How much would you be able to devour before someone else stumbles upon the sight? You quickly interrupted your own thoughts as you blurted out, "I think I'm sick is all." Soap hummed and reached over, pressing his hand against your forehead. "Ye dinnae feel sick, ye feel cold to be honest, lovie..." He muttered. "Sarge-" You were cut off by his hands feeling up the scruff of your neck and under your jaw. "Sorry, mate. My mum used to do this to check if me or my siblings were sick..." His voice was low, as if he trying not to spook an injured animal. "Sarge, I'm fine, honest-!" You tried to reason with him. You knew he was telling you the truth, but you also knew how he was. To clarify, while the relationship between you and Soap was rather handsy it was usually a welcome action and when it wasn't, you would tell him and he would back off. The touches the two of you would share sometimes bordered on inappropriate, but it often didn't go much further than that. It was a very intimate relationship, one that could be missed if someone didn't have a trained eye. However, it wasn't quite romantic...just intimate and sometimes intense-

Looking into his eyes, you could tell that while he was indeed just checking up on you, there was a small sense of enjoyment at the fact you were letting him casually paw at your sensitive skin. You let out a soft hiss in pain when he pressed down on a particularly tender spot, "Johnny, too hard..." "Sorry, lovie..." Soap said quietly, letting go after a moment. "It's okay..." You assured him, "What's the prognosis, Doctor MacTavish?" He chuckled at your teasing and shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest, "Yer feelin' a bit stiff is all. Probably from yer god-awful posture." "Then I am going to do what I was planning to do and go take a nap. I should probably tell Gaz...I was gonna eat lunch with him today..." You said, disappointment heavy in your voice. "I can tell 'im fer you, lovie. Dinnae ye worry yer little head ‘bout it." Soap smiled, reaching over and giving you an affectionate pat on the shoulder. A sigh left your lips as you gave him a relieved smile, "You'd really do that for me? Thank you, Johnny..." He smiled back, his hand gently squeezing your shoulder. "Yer welcome..." You playfully nudged his arm with your elbow which made him chuckle and give you a wink before he walked around you, leaving you on your own as you finally made it to your room. You remembered the last time you retreated to your room when feeling unwell while you stared at your bed, closing your door behind you. It was a few days after the attack... Your body felt like it was on fire, especially where that damn doctor had bitten you. Your heart raced and your arm felt like your veins had poison coursing through them. You had refused to let anyone know, nor let anyone take care of you going as far as to barricade the door. Stupid? Yes, but what were you supposed to do? Let the teammates whom you trust your life with every single day know you're unwell? Ask them for help because they're your found family and you would drop everything to take care of them if they were in this state because you love and cherish them as people? Cringe- You groaned in pain, curling up in your little bed while digging your nails into the fabric, tearing them effortlessly much to your surprise. "What the fuck?" You huffed out, grimacing as you stare at the ruined sheets, "I just bought those..." Was that what you should have been worried about? Absolutely not, but you have to cope somehow. The pain was unbearable, but the worst of it was the fever and the fever dreams that came along with them. Well, you called them fever dreams; they actually appeared in your mind when you were awake. And most of them were really just...urges... Visions of ripping people apart filled your mind. It felt so real...you could feel your fingers digging into some faceless person's skin, tearing apart their flesh and ripping apart their ribs while they screamed and thrashed. The more skeptical part of your mind shoved it off as just an edgy little thought that you had as a courtesy of watching so many horror movies with Gaz, just a silly little spout of aggression. No, it was the thought of eating the person that got you to worry. It was the thought of burying your face into their warm body and sinking your teeth into their heart that scared you. The worst part of it was the fact that your stomach growled every time you imagined chewing and swallowing, like a forbidden fruit... Blood spilling down your chin like you had just bit into an apple after days of neglecting your hunger became a feeling you craved desperately. "Please just be a really fucked up version of the flu..." You whispered, "I swear to everything that is good and holy if it's not-" You were interrupted by a sudden sharp pain in your stomach, making you cry out. Burying your face into your pillow, you let out a quiet sob while you clung to it. Somehow, you felt embarrassed about how much pain you felt. You've taken bullets for fuck's sake! You have broken bones, dislocated joints-! And a little stomachache is making you cry?!

"What the fuck...?" You muttered, wiping the sweat from your forehead. Upon seeing the literal puddle of it in your hand you cringed, “Mm…that’s nasty…”

Sitting up, you use the headboard of your bed to keep you steady while your head pounds and begs you to lay back down. You huff, leaning your head against your arm for a moment. This fucking sucks. There is no denying it!

Your nose is pressed against your flesh, and you catch a whiff of yourself…Oh my…

Your stomach beckons you, and in that moment, you don’t even care. How can you? You’re starving!

So…

Without a second thought…

You sink your teeth into your wrist with a sickening squelch, tearing through veins and muscle. And, God, if it didn’t taste lovely…

Back To Current Day…

You sit down on your bed, running your fingers over the stitching you had done over the once torn sheets. It wasn’t perfect, but it was good enough!

With a sigh, you lean against the wall, staring at the ceiling as you reach over and gently touch your forearm, your fingertips sliding across the edge of the bandage. You didn’t really want to check if the wound was still there…but you didn’t want it to get infected either.

Your eyes glance down as you kicked off your shoes, scooting into your bed while your hand slowly peeled the bandaid off. You expected infection…a festering, pulsing and pus filled one…however, there was nothing. Your wrist was completely healed, like nothing happened-! How…?

You shake your head as hard as you can, as if it would shake the thoughts away. You ball the bandaid up and go to the trashcan, tossing it before going to your sink and rinsing your hands off. This isn’t so bad, right? It’s- er- not ideal, but it’s something! Maybe you should keep a journal of your changes- No. Too risky. If anyone found it…

Your eyes closed as you lean against the counter, inhaling through your nose while your leg bounce uncomfortably, “I can’t see a doctor…I really should but-! …What if I hurt someone…?”

You found yourself doing that a lot; whispering to yourself, fighting yourself…etc…

But that’s neither here nor there, it’s time to eat.

You started to head to your mini fridge, kneeling down before it and opening it up to take a package of raw meat out. You tear it open with your finger, feeling yourself begin to shake…

Shoveling raw meat into your mouth was not a good feeling. Did it scratch that lizard part of your brain? Yes. But social norms taught you to be disgusted with such bad manners-! However…as you sunk your teeth into the raw chicken breast, you ripped and tore away at it, feeling yourself grow more and more ravenous as it you continued. It tasted pretty okay for the most part, which is what surprised you the most.

Tasted like chicken, obviously, but the raw flavor added to it somehow? It was so hard to describe! But…then those thoughts came…

You were imaging the meat belonging to Soap, your beloved teammate. You felt so dirty and perverted…

‘This isn’t normal,’ You reminded yourself, ‘This is NOT. NORMAL!’

You didn’t even realize someone else had entered your room until they cleared their throat, making you snap your attention to whomever it was.

Oh shit.

#bug sure is snug in this rug #141 x reader #task force 141 #john price x reader #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #poly 141 #john soap mctavish x reader #zombie au #zombie reader #john price #141 au #cod 141

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cobwebs-in-autumn · 6 months

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Zombie Apocalypse Au where Ghost kidnaps a Zombie and takes care of her 🧡🧡🧡

Ghost who lost his whole team some odd years ago and has been entirely on his own since. Slowly becoming more and more desperate for human contact, losing his mind to the voices in his head, almost convinced that he’s the last man on earth. He can’t remember the last time he saw another person. In a world like that, all alone, what’s the point of living?

Well, you, of course! He found you one day on his way to the river, caught up in some fishing nets, hissing and biting at the rope you couldn’t get free of. You were soaking wet, your clothes torn and bloody. You hadn’t started to rot yet, he could almost confuse you for a living person if it wasn’t for your sickly pallor and the hazy film over your eyes that signified otherwise.

He looked at you and couldn’t help but feel….sad. To him you looked scared, like a little defenseless kitten caught in a storm drain, big wet eyes that begged to be saved. He wanted to help you. Protect you. Keep you warm and safe beside him.

Getting you back to his bunker is a hassle, cleaning you up even more so. He’s got a gag in your mouth and you’re chained to the wall by two shackles on your wrists that don’t give you much room to move. He dries you up and takes off your wet clothes, dresses you in one of his largest shirts so you don’t get cold (if you even can get cold). Strokes at your cheeks as you snarl and growl, jerking in his arms when he tries to hug you. He’s practically pudding against you, not even minding your fighting as he loses himself in the first bit of physical affection he’s had in who knows how long.

Eventually you seem to settle into some kind of acceptance with him. You still hiss and growl at him but you don’t lunge at him anymore after he starts feeding you game meat. He still has to gag you when he clips your nails, cleans you, or if he wants to hold you, but otherwise you’re pretty docile for him. Give minimal fuss when he’s gagging you or when he’s putting you in a harness for one of your rare days out, and even seem to like it when he pays special attention to your pretty cunt. Pressing slow and sloppy kisses to your clit that leave your sickly form shaking, your moans raspy and low, your hands yanking at the shackles holding you.

In fact, he realizes that taking care of you is so much easier after you’ve been given a little attention. You’re quieter and calmer, almost seeming dazed after he’s made you cum on his fingers or tongue. Getting the chance to fuck you is harder, you’re still so squirmy everytime he tries and he thinks that’s your way of telling him that you think he’s too big. None of his coos help soothe you and you screech when he manages to get the tip in. It hurts his feelings, Love :( he just wants to feel good in return and he can’t trust your mouth or hands not to hurt him.

#Cw: dub-con #cod #call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #zombie apocolypse au #Cobweb writes

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reds-skull · 1 month

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More Cyberknight AU sketches... I can already tell I'll have to do something with this universe, considering how much I'm thinking about the world building, plot, characters...

Speaking of world building, gonna write down some of it under the cut, if anyone's interested... (it turned out to be....... a lot..............)

Alright, so obviously there's a lot of influence of medieval knight armor, so my first line of thought was adding some sort of magic system. Initially I was like "well, can't use the magic system I have in my original stories, since Revenant AU is based on that, and if I do that again it would be way too similar". I considered scrapping magic off this AU completely, because I didn't think I could make a magic system different enough from rev AU to not be just the same thing but To The Left. And then it hit me.

COD already has a magic system. In Zombies.

Now, the Aether is not really treated as magic, more like scientific phenomena, but it's practically magic, taking to account the field upgrades, and its effect on living being (zombies, and special zombies like manglers, mimics, disciples...).

And the moment I thought about that, everything started clicking together.

Picture this, post apocalyptic world. Operation Deadbolt failed, and the Aether spread from Urzikstan to the rest of the world. Decades later, humanity found ways to ward it off, leaving swaths of land infected with the Aether, quarantined away from the remaining human cities.

This quarantine isn't perfect, however, and certain Aether forms threaten the delicate peace on the cities. This is where the Cyberknights come in.

Using Aether portals (the ones in-game), they teleport deep into Aether territory, and with motorcycles traverse the land, tracking big Aether forms that pose a big enough threat.

Scientists have found ways to build weapons made of Aether. The more in the metal, the better, so guns were now dwarfed by the power of swords and spears. These new weapons use the Aether of fallen enemies as a power source, for charging a powerful attack (in-game they're called Field Upgrades, and I'm giving them a lore explanation as to why it takes a while to charge them, and why it charges by killing zombies).

There are a few types of Aether forms: Aether-Mechanical (think the Manglers from the game), native Aether forms (Disciples, mimics, Aether worm), and infected Aether forms (humans turned zombies). Because of that, each unit must include at least one of each: a mechanic (in charge of equipment, and the mechanical nature of Aether-Mechanical forms), an Aether expert (for teleporters, and Aether forms in general) and a fighter (acting as sort of a tank as the others work).

I also thought a bit about the 141's weapons and field upgrades, so here's a little blurb on each:

Soap - Wields 2 short swords, the right with Cryo Freeze (Ammo Mod in-game), and the left with Napalm Burst. Field Upgrade is Frenzied Guard: Killing zombies grants a shield, but all hostiles are attracted to Soap once he turns it on. This Field Upgrade is usually reserved for fighters, which Soap used to be, but he's now acting as a mechanic for the 141 unit.

The blue and red in his design are for his ammo mods, ice and fire, and the helmet obviously resembles his hairstyle. Originally I went for something more Scottish, but it didn't look exactly like I imagined (Scottish warriors were notorious for not wearing a lot of armor, and they kinda scared other cultures, sometimes carrying the head of their enemies to intimidate others. So metal haha).

Gaz - Wields a spear, that uses Aether as a sort of magnetic force, meaning he can throw it and pull it back. Field Upgrade is Energy Blast: turning it on will create a force field around him, pushing and injuring anyone attempting to get close to him (this is a modified version of the Energy Mine in MWZ, just thought I can make it more interesting).

The purple on his belt are Aether crystals, as he's the 141's Aether expert. The "horns" on his helmet are actually a detector of Aether forms (and they're there to look cool).

Price - Wields a foldable shield, and a short sword, with Brain Rot applied to it (Brain Rot will make a zombie turn to your side for a short while, attacking hostiles for a few moments before their head explodes). Field Upgrade is Healing Aura, which will... heal everyone around him, obviously. Price is the fighter of the 141.

Price is nicknamed "The White Knight", as a well known fighter with a long history of felled Aether superforms. The piece on his right arm (his right), is his shield in folded form.

G.H.O.S.T. is a robot, powered by Aether, the first of his kind. This means he uses 2 Field Upgrades: Aether Shroud, making him go invisible for a short while, and Tesla Storm, which channels bolts of electricity through his body and his teammates', as well as his knives, so he makes sure to throw them in tactical positions before activating this. The electricity doesn't hurt his teammates, their armor makes sure of that, but it will kill lower Aether lifeforms, and damage the stronger ones. G.H.O.S.T. is the secondary fighter of the 141.

G.H.O.S.T. - Wields several knives, that use a similar technology to Gaz's spear, meaning he can pull them back at will.

[Edit: forgot to mention that the things sticking out of his forearms are his knives]

His design is based on the "Gilded Ghost" skin in-game, without the gilded part lol. The purple parts are the Aether powering his mechanical body.

For the story, I have something planned... but I don't wanna spoil you lmao. I was thinking a lot about Soap, who (if I make a fic which lets be honest I probably will) will be the POV.

Soap joins the 141 mainly as a mechanic. Each unit has a fighter, a mechanic, and an Aether expert. Gaz is the Aether expert, and Price is the fighter, G.H.O.S.T. acting as a support for Soap when the unit splits up. Soap comes from the northern territories, so he's very different from the rest in terms of his background, basically an outsider. He used to be a fighter, but a knee injury forced him to change positions. All members of a unit can fight, but it's not their main job, bar the fighter of course. He feels bitter about that.

He finds in G.H.O.S.T. an odd companionship, considering the robot can't feel. His AI is exceptionally advanced, so he does talk unnervingly, almost like a human. Soap often just rants, talking about his home city, about the life he used to have, and G.H.O.S.T. listens with no complaints, not that a robot can really complain.

It all changed on one fateful deployment, where Soap and G.H.O.S.T. get separated from the rest, and Soap finds the truth behind G.H.O.S.T.'s technology...

That's all I'm gonna leave you with for now, haha. As you can probably tell, I spent a lot of time playing Zombies in MW3 (idk I just find it a good way to relax), so I really enjoy trying to think of explanations for each mechanic, and how the world would look like 50 years in the future.

#call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mw2 #cod soap #cod ghost #cod gaz #cod price #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #john price #cyberknights au #cod zombies #cod mwz #cod fanart

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callofdudes · 7 months

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Zombie Ghost x Reader

Look at how adorable he is 🥰

Summary: After getting bitten by a zombie during the last outbreak, you and the team are clinging on to any hope you have of bringing back your friend.

Cw: Angst, death, gore.

A/n: I really do apologize for lack of updating as I've recently been quite a lot busier and mentally this feels like a brick load.

The zombie apocalypse. Unknown in origin and spreading around the globe in immeasurable numbers. Claiming half the popular by storm and turning them into spawn of the sucking, drooling, blood lusting bodies that dragged themselves across the earth. 141 was no stranger to dangerous tasks but while locked behind the safe haven of thick barbwire fences and giant floodlights on base to keep away from the spread, they were also charged with taking it down.

The daunting thought. Two of you sent out each week to kill as many as you could in a few days time while keeping regular in check hours with the others was grueling...

Ghost stopped abruptly along the treeline, forcing you to also stop, looking around at the chilly autumn landscape. You were lucky it was autumn, easier to see through the trees, the crunching of dried leaves and immediately give away to position. If only it didn't work for both parties.

You held your gun stiffly, unable to fight the urge to look back behind you several times. The air reeked of death and the smell was ungodly. You were close.

Ghost stepped forward again, shifting his crosshairs over toward the lake in the distance. Known to avoid water but not above sticking around it like fools. You both approached, surely this was your target end.

The whole thought made your spine tingle, and not in a good way. "Ghost- do you have a visual?" You whisper, turning again behind you just to be sure it is still barren.

"Negative." He replied, shifting his gun as he approached the end of the hill, staring down into the valley. A dead end.

He looked around before lowering his weapon. "Nothing."

"But there was a sighting around here." You look down at the lake where the water didn't stir and then around at the thick trees.

"I know, but I'm not-"

There was a crack, a branch above from a nearby tree giving way, it's limbs tearing like string as the weight came crashing down. Simon cursed as the branch hit him, sending him to the ground before feeling those cold dead hands grab onto his throat.

"Simon!!" You pointed your gun, watching the two struggle while trying to get a clear shot.

Ghost grunted, the zombie snarled at him, saliva flicking onto his face. Those milky, glazed eyes and the smell of the rotting flesh from its corpse. It leaned down, it's blunt teeth attempting to sink into him but Ghost managed to thrust it back.

You shot a bullet through its spine, hearing it screech and spill up blood from its mouth, animalistic hunger seeping in and it sunk its mouth into Ghost's forearm, biting and tearing into the flesh.

Ghost tries to get away and kick it off, managing to send it sprawling and losing its tight grip on him. And watching you put more than a fair share of bullets into it.

He panted, his arm throbbing. He winced under his breath, pulling up his sleeve and seeing the deep mark and the flesh torn from his skin from the separation. The way his veins were already bulging and searing black from the point of contact. Almost instantaneous...

"Were you hurt??" You move back over to him.

Ghost yanks down his sleeve

"No. I'm fine."

"Ghost-" You reach out for his arm and he tries to push you away, only aiding you in getting him with both hands, pulling his sleeve up to see the bite.

"Shit...." Your worst fear. You couldn't imagine yourself getting bitten, but one of your friends. Your lieutenant.

"We need to get you back home, fuck, how much time do we have??" You turned on your radio, comming in to Price for evac and a medical team.

Ghost watched you, feeling a sharp pain fill his head. He blinked, trying to ward it off, the whites of his eyes already invading his pupils and glazing over his irises. The venom spreading through his body and claiming him.

You looked at him, seeing him watching you and trying to hang on. "It'll be ok Simon." You said it more for yourself it felt. He gave a simple nod, sitting down against the tree nearby to try and stabilize himself.

The wait until evac and medical came was intense. You tried to keep Simon talking but it was clear his mind wasn't right. Half here half somewhere else, zoning in and out.

A new form of hunger already coiling in his stomach and taking over like a hand slashing through his intestines. Opening gashes and letting fluids pour out and burn the inside of him. That's what the hunger felt like. The wanting. The need.

To feast and sink his blunt teeth into the warm flesh of a body and tear it right from the screaming corpse.

He held his head, tapping his foot violently fast against the ground, trying to distract himself.

You watched him worriedly, looking back as medical came rushing over from where the helicopter had landed some hundred feet away.

"He needs help! Right now, he needs help!" You yell as they approach, one of the soldiers taking you aside while the other two stand Simon up.

"He's been bitten you need to help him!"

Ghost staggered, looking at you as the medical officers walked him back to the helicopter and helped him inside.

Your heart was racing. Would this be a goodbye?? What would happen?? Could they save him?? So many questions so little time.

You were loaded into a separate air unit while medical attended to Ghost.

Back on base they didn't let you see him either. Every minute wasted was a possibility to save Ghost and you knew that. But you couldn't help and see how Ghost struggled. His pale fists clenching, his once blue veins deep black, tinting the color of his skin.

How he struggled and fought the restraints of the medical bed before you were ushered in a different direction to go see your team.

It was quiet entering the living area, seeing Price sat there in his favorite chair, the rocker completely still while Johnny and Gaz occupied the couch, fidgety.

Gaz was the first to react, getting up and rushing to you. "Oh thank goodness. You had us worried mate- are you ok?" He inspected you, worry in his eyes until you squeezed his hand.

"I'm ok Gaz, I'm ok."

"So it's true then?? The report??" Johnny asked, still glued to the couch.

"About Ghost? Yes... he was bitten."

The reality all of you knew and yet weren't entirely willing to accept. You'd never managed to save anyone from the claws of the virus no matter how many small doses of formulas and stimulus syringes were produced all too quickly for them to properly work.

And if they did work, the constant need to be injecting it to keep the virus away from completely devouring the brain and the immune system was taxing.

You didn't sleep that night. Trying to imagine what Simon was feeling. Tossing and turning through every hour, thinking of Ghost. Your friend.

Maybe if you had helped faster? If you had shot faster or kicked the stupid thing instead of standing there like an idiot. All the what ifs drowned you and your worries for Ghost.

The next morning you were planning to stop by Simon's hospital bed to check on him and see if he was doing any better.

Before you could though, you were abruptly interrupted in the hallway by Johnny.

"Y/n, you have to come down to the containment room... it's not good."

"Containment...?" Your heart pounded. "Come on, let's go." You and Johnny rush down the hallway out past the medical rooms to a different room. One you had installed after the outbreaks to help keep any spawn in base contained.

Rushing into the room the containment unit was already surrounded by Gaz and Price.

You heard that snarl, the heavy breathing. Light footsteps that stalked the tank within.

"How is he??" You push in between them, seeing the unit. Simon... Simon was inside. But he didn't look like Simon. Not anymore.

The skin around his face was dark and bloodied, teeth bared and his eyes milky and cloudy.

He snarled when he saw you, he smelled you. Pounding on the unit and lashing out. His fists pounded on it, staring at you like a snack. Something he could eat whole. Swallow in one meal.

He mimicked those disgusting sounds of the horrors that roamed the wastes outside the base.

He slammed his body into the tank. Snarling and yelling as he threw himself, clawing and pounding on the windows.

"Simon stop!" You called, stepping back as he thrust himself at the window, slamming his fists into it.

Blood flicking over the glass and splattering with each hit.

"Simon you're hurting yourself!!" You cried, seeing Simon in a frenzy. Was this Simon?? This wasn't Simon. This wasn't your friend.

But you didn't know what you would do without Simon. You couldn't go on without him and right now he doesn't look like he is wants to be friends with you.

Simon was in so much pain. His stomach twisted and squelched inside his rotting body. It was so numb and yet he felt pain in every layer of flesh that was torn from his body.

He couldn't control when he bit that doctor, he couldn't control when he'd smashed the monitor and snapped his neck. He was hungry. He was so fucking hungry.

And now you were here, and that angry appetite only grew. He nearly salivated, he could smell your warm skin. He could see the fear and the hope in your eyes, but his hunger was in control. It's all he knew.

You continued to watch him throw himself at the tank, trying to calm him down, to get him to stop. To see any resemblance between your friend still in there. If there was anything.

"Simon please I need you to stop, stop Simon, please." You moved closer to the tank, placing your hand on it to try and calm him.

A moment of silence went by before he lunged again, screaming as his blunt, exposed teeth gnashed at the window where your palm was, making you jump back.

Price places his hand on your shoulder, watching Simon continue to try to get out. To fight the horrible hunger inside him.

"I'm sorry soldier..."

You quivered, seeing Simon like this broke you. Rushing from the room and back under your covers to cry. Simon, your best friend...

Why hadn't you just been faster. If you hadn't been so dumb and seen where that stupid zombie was perched this would have never happened. It felt like your fault. It was your fault.

Every day you went to see Simon, and every day it just felt worse. His anger slowly started to calm and you even took the occasional chance to try and feed him through one of the tubes attached to the tank.

Simon would eat it, but would watch you. Sometimes you knew he was looking at you because he wanted to eat you and others you weren't sure. It was a numb look. Blank. A look you all too often couldn't read.

You'd sit with him when he had stopped acting crazy. He would sit on the tank floor staring or would walk around, licking the tube into the tank to get any reminisce of the slop you had to feed him to help his hunger.

You would talk to him even if nothing was said back. It was like you were talking to a brick wall all over again.

It was your fault.

You did this to him.

He's hurting. He's in pain.

He's your best friend.

Hoard after hoard the team kept fighting, but you couldn't do this without Simon. You couldn't. And you couldn't fight knowing Simon was back on base locked up, going stir crazy and trying to get out. Fed anything from leftover meals if he was lucky...

It was another dark night. Sitting in your room while looking at one of the photos you had taken of Simon. One of the only photos you had where you caught his eyes in the light, seeing the glint and the faint sparkle that would travel back and forth. The corners of his eyes creasing from his hidden smile.

You left your bed, tucking your blanket around your shoulders with the photo in hand. You wandered down past the medical room and to the containment unit.

Flicking on the dimmer lights you saw Simon sitting at the back of his tank, eyes immediately on you when you enter.

"Hey buddy..." you whisper, coming over to the tank.

Simon snarls lowly, staring at you and slowly standing when you placed your hand on the tank. "I'm sorry Simon... I'm truly sorry..."

He huffed through his nose, coming over to the tank. He didn't bang on it, he didn't attempt to jump. He watched you. In the quietness, his glazed over eyes showing no signs of the person you once knew.

But then, for a moment, something happened. His hand came up, touching the glass over your palm from the other side. Seeming content.

You looked in at him, making your final decision. "I can't go on without you Simon. I just don't think I can watch you be kept in here. Not when I know they'll kill you soon."

Simon continues to silently watch you. You move away from the tank and over to the console in the corner, granting access to the security latch on the unit.

You both heard the hiss and the click. Simon's eyes watching you with that hollow, hungry desire. He pressed his hand to the glass, watching it move and shift open, letting him out into the air.

He smelled of death and rotting flesh. Sounds gurgled up in his throat, and he lunged at you. You gasp, your natural instinct to fight until his nails sunk into your shoulders.

You looked up at him as he sunk his teeth into your cheek, making you cry as he bit down and tore through the flesh and tendon, liquid squelching and blood splattering across the walls.

Tears swelled in your eyes as he chewed down your flesh and gnashed his teeth into the side of your face, pulling and tearing the tissue away from the bone and devouring you.

You cried, the pain making you fight and struggle against him as you went down to the ground. He straddled you, moving down your body, nails tearing at your collar bones and down your chest, completely tearing open your clothes and drawing blood from every inch of your skin.

That animalistic hunger inside him fed off the warm delicious taste of your skin.

"Simon-" You cried, knowing your fate was sealed. He continued to tear into your body. Snarling and hissing as blood spilled. He tore into your chest, making you scream as he broke through your ribcage and made for your heart, ripping it right out of your chest.

You choked, clawing for a last reminisce of life. Trying to cling on, to do anything. Your mind went blank and you succumb to the torture. Simon continues to eat, his hunger having been fed little by little by the slop from that tube.

The taste of your warm skin as it traveled down his raw throat was unlike anything he knew. It only grew that hunger inside him, his eyes glazing over and clouding thicker as the damage became beyond irreversible.

Pulling apart inch by inch of you and biting in to it, leaving you a bloody mess.

Blood marred all down his chin, making his face look black from the thickness of the blood. His hands covered and his nails dripping.

He could smell more of it. He snarled, getting up and slipping through the open door and down the hallway.

Growling and snarling as he went, stopping by the first door where he smelled a mix of human flesh with gunpowder and spice.

His stomach twisted in excitement as he pushes the door in, seeing the peaceful form that lay there. He moved, jumping on the bed and tearing into his once friend in his sleep.

The terrified screams of panic and pain as he tried to fight Simon off, grabbing his journal and trying hit him in the head in a desperate attempt to fight.

Simon twisted his head away, tearing into his throat and ripping his vocal chords out with the chunk of flesh, blood splattering everywhere.

Two down. Two to go.

Yes, this is immediately what I thought of when I first saw him so... yeah. It's unedited and I wrote it between taking naps so apologies if the gorification be lacking.

#simon ghost riley #call of duty #john soap mactavish #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #captain john price #zombie au #cod apocalypse au #platonic ghost x reader #not really either which way i suppose #angst #simons got your nose 🤭#simon riley #simon riley x reader #call of duty zombies

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fel0ny-01 · 3 months

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Discovering he was immune wasn’t really a massive surprise to Soap, sure it was definitely something, but nothing that he couldn’t really deal with.

What was hard to deal with somewhat was his undead luitenant following him around like a lost puppy. From the time he’d spent with him, he realised he didn’t have any sort of hunger for human flesh and was 99% sentient, just with the weird fact that he looks a little less like he did before he turned; nearly always dislocated jaw and ghostly eyes.

And the lack of constant chit-chat didn’t stop Soap from telling him dad jokes, hearing the gurgling laugh from behind him. He could still sort of talk, (he said that it hurt) but not as well as he used to. You really had to listen closely or learn Zombie Simon language, but for the most part he was semi-coherent.

Soap didn’t prefer it, at all. He missed all the times he could hear his broody laugh. But this’ll have to do. It’s better than him being another body in the ground.

#zombie au #call of duty #call of duty zombie au #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghostsoap

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siriusleee · 5 months

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i. hidden caches

Zombie Apocalypse AU | SIMON RILEY x f!READER

↳ SUMMARY: The world is trying to knit itself back together after fracturing apart. You're trying to put yourself back together with it; Simon Riley is just trying to stay alive. ↳ WORD COUNT: 2.2K ↳ TAGS: mentions of cannibalism, mentions of shooting things, mentions of dying. smut to come. canon typical violence to come. additional tags to come as the story progresses. female reader. no mentions of "your name". reader is given a nickname later on. nc-17. ↳ AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks to the lovely anon who asked for a scene from an apocalypse au, and this idea was born. If you'd like to donate to my Ko-Fi (my bed frame broke this week and a new one was $200 I didn't have), I would appreciate it. ↳ TAG LIST: There will not be a tag list for this story, as Tumblr has issues with letting me tag people. To get notifications of updates, please subscribe on AO3 or turn on notifications for my blog.

additional chapters | ao3

The ending had come quicker than anyone expected. The epidemics and endemics and pandemics of the years past had given false confidence to everyone. We survived the last thing, the news reporters had said, gray building beneath their eyes, and we can survive this. Behind them images of towns being devoured played.

Bodies can decompose in as little as nine days. The first to go is the soft tissue: the eyes, the tongue, the soft flesh of the cheeks. When bacteria and insects are introduced, the flesh breaks down faster. Bones take longer - sometimes years to fully wear away into the dust that collects underfoot. But these things - whatever turned them kept them covered in a thin layer of adipocere to protect them from the elements. They kept shuffling along long past the time when they should have reverted back to a primordial soup where they lay.

But they still decomposed. The trick was to stay ahead of them, away from the gnashing teeth that transmitted the virus, away from the hands and feet that never seemed to tire. So few people could. Whole towns and cities were decimated, felled beneath the hordes of horror that ambled slowly past, swallowed up by the feet that didn’t stop moving until they wore themselves down to stubs, which were them pulled forward by hands and knees that never tired.

But yours did. The familiar path towards the north was more overgrown this year than in the past. For a few years, there had been wary companions, eyes that lingered until the snow and frost rolled in to freeze the Biters where they stood. But as the years wanned on the crowd grew smaller and smaller until you only caught hints of others moving north: horse prints, trash left behind, the occasional Biter left decomposing in the bushes.

This year there was nothing. Either you had moved too early or there was no one left. The latter is too terrifying, so you push it away and think about whatever groups may wander through here after you.

The woods loom tall above you, the snow that fell earlier in the morning just barely dusting the branches above your head. None of it had reached the leaves that are too waterlogged from recent rains to crunch beneath your feet. A blister is rubbing itself raw at your ankle; you know that if you don’t stop to treat it, it will be unbearable tomorrow, but you brush the thought off. You need to reach the marker before nightfall.

The markers had appeared between one trip north and your trip back down.

West Village - 20km

The first year it had appeared left the group you were with in a tizzy. The group had fractured down the middle. If all of you found each other, how hard was it to think that a larger group had finally banned together? Civilization needed to rebuild eventually.

You didn’t trust the shaky scrawl that printed the words, so you had been with the group that refused to go. The next year there was another marker tacked to the first.

Body snatchers. Beware.

It was amazing to you: how well rumors could start and spread without phones or the internet. For months, every person you and your group came across would give the same warning, and ask you all the same questions. Have you seen the body snatchers? Are you the body snatchers?

Humans turned cannabolids. Farms where people were forced to reproduce. Spits with babies roasting above the fire. You wanted to think that it was the stuff of fiction.

In the third year, there was another argument. The group cleaved in half again when the promise of civilization reared its head. Your group had divided again at the markers, disappearing into the thick woods.

Almost no one survived the winter that year. You’d held the hands of all the dying and covered them under a thick blanket of snow before dividing their possessions up between the remainder of the group. In the end, there were just three of you. And when the winter rolled away you all broke apart, whatever ties that held you all together broken by the cold.

The next year you were the only one in your camp.

The markers had become a sort of prayer to you, that one day you’d meet someone else on the road - some scream and shout that there were others out there even if you were too wary to speak to them.

But it’s been two years - the crude paint of the West Village sign fading, the body snatchers warning falling to the earth unceremoniously. The wood started to rot.

And you were utterly alone. Around you, the sound of nature getting ready for the winter fills in the ever-present silence that usually surrounds you. It’s been weeks since you’d last seen a person: a lone traveler moving in the opposite direction as you. And you’d hid from them, worried that they were the sort of feral people turned into when they were alone for too long - a body snatcher. Worried that you were that kind of feral.

You know the markers when you approach them like your body’s memorized the number of steps it takes to reach them. Your chest thumps as you approach the spot where they should be nailed to a tree, growing taller into the air each year. Your boots falter against the wet leaves as you approach the place.

The markers have been repainted. Or at least the West Village one has. This time it’s nailed to a post in the ground; you bend down to inspect the dirt around the post. It’s packed underneath a thick layer of loam - whoever put it up must have put it up much earlier in the year. The thought sends a shiver down your spine. You wonder if any members of your former group are still there.

For half a second, you think about following the arrow, but before the thought can fully form in your head, you let your feet carry you forward on the path. Just ahead is the rest area you’ve always used. Your tree, one with branches high enough that the only things who can see you are the birds whose nests you disturb, erupts from the ground ahead of you.

You climb up like you were taught; throwing your rope onto the first branch you can physically reach and lash it to yourself. It’s more difficult to climb the tree with your pack and bow, but you don’t want to risk leaving it behind for anyone who may come through after you. When you reach the point where the rope reaches the tree, you pull yourself onto the branch. The blister on your ankle is screaming, but you don’t pause until your hammock is secure and your harness is wrapped around you. The cool wind cuts through the thin fabric of the hammock, but it’s not too cold as you peel back your socks to reveal an angry raw spot crawling across your ankle.

Too tired to do much more, you slide your other boot off, tying them together and then to your pack. The gentle sway of the trees makes your eyelids heavy, and you let yourself drift off into the first good night's sleep you’ve had in a while.

The bitter cold wakes you up, the wind moving your hammock back and forth gently. The darkness spins above you, clouds backlit by the moon. Not for the first time you think about how easy it used to be, curled up with another warm body beneath the thick blankets - how easy it was to switch on the percolator in the morning and wrap your hands around a warm cup of coffee, how easy -

You press the heel of your hands into your eyes and try to press away the thoughts that are racing through your brain. Remembering the before drives people crazy; you’ve seen how it can eat people up and you refuse to let it eat at you. So you pull your thermal blanket closer around yourself and try to get some sleep.

But the sun rises earlier than you expected and extra sleep never comes.

It doesn’t take long for you to pack what little you have back in your pack and descend back down. At the bottom you dig out the little bit of jerky you still have saved from the summer months; it’s disgusting, but it’s enough to push you forward to the next place.

You walk the entire time with your bow in your hand, waiting for some animal to run out in front of you and meet its mark, but the forest is silent today as you push towards the next stop in your journey north, a small nameless village secluded away from the rest of civilization - just good enough to sleep in for the night.

The sun has just started to sink below the treeline when the village finally springs into view. The blister on your ankle has popped, and you think you can feel blood rushing into your sock, but you don’t dare stop and check; you don’t want the scent of fresh blood to attract any Biters that may be hidden away for now. Your fingers cramp around the bow and your stomach growls. You’d picked a smooth rock up from the ground hours earlier and popped it into your mouth to try and trick yourself into thinking you were eating something, but it hadn’t worked. If anything it made your hunger worse.

There was salvation coming - on your second year coming through here you’d snuck off from the group and buried a cache. Each year you did your best not to touch it unless it was to refill something inside of it, but this year you knew you’d have to empty it.

You crunch over tire tracks that crisscross over each other on the main road into the village; they’re dry enough that you know whoever managed to scrape up enough gas to drive in and out was gone, but the thought of someone driving up on you made you nervous, and make your steps quicken. If people were driving through here then you needed to be gone before sunlight tomorrow.

Weary, you push yourself towards the back half of the village to a little two-story you know well. It had been the same house your group, and then yourself, slept in each year on your way to the north camp; in the back, beneath an overturned chair that was slowly rotting with time, your little cache was stored.

You shoulder your way through the half-rotted back gate and freeze. The chair is tossed to the side, rusted parts puzzle pieced across the ground. And directly where your cache had been buried is a hole, smoothed over from time and rain.

You could cry if you had any water left in you to cry. So instead you walk numbly into the house - habit making you click the lock on the door even though it’s long since stopped working. The same thick dust that was here last year is still across the floor, so thick your steps don’t even disturb it. You pass through the living area and up the steps. On the landing, you don’t pause - to the left of you is the nursery that’s always been empty. The first few times you’d stopped here the sight of the broken-down white crib and sage walls made something ache inside of you, and you’d learned not to look. It’s better to just let things alone and try to stifle your imagination.

The attic ladder swings down with ease and you test your weight on the rungs before climbing up - any broken bones and you may as well just shoot yourself where you lay. It creaks ominously beneath you but keeps as you clamber through the hole. You let yourself collapse on the floor beside the ladder after pulling it up, and wrapping a rope around the ladder to keep anyone from pulling it down in the night. All at once, hunger and exhaustion pull you down towards the floor.

You’ll have to shoot something tomorrow and check the well for fresh water. There are still to many miles before you make it north enough to be safe for the winter, and you won’t make it without water and food.

You try to distract yourself from the cramping of hunger and how little water is left in your jug by peeling your boots off. As you’d thought, the blister had split and bled, but thankfully your sock had caught most of it.

You clean up the best you can in the dusty light filtering in from the little window that looks out the back garden and wonder who could have known the cache was there. An old group member who spotted you checking it in the past? Or was it a lucky guess, someone who came through after you and spotted the freshly disturbed dirt and came to the right inference?

You try to tell yourself it doesn’t matter as you pull your thermal blanket from your pack and lay down, but you can’t quite convince yourself of that lie.

#my fics #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #ghost cod x reader #ghost #simon riley x you #cod x reader #cod mw2 #cod modern warfare #cod mwii #mw2 #ghost mw2 #cod ghost #zombie au #simon riley zombie au

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nsharks · 3 months

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bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part eighteen —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 3.3k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn’t here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.

Over the next four days, you find yourself panting in exhilaration each morning you spar with Ghost. Every slam of your hand into his ribs feels strangely better than the last. He goes harder on you. He'd been holding back, too, apparently— an unfortunate fact for your ribs. The pain seems to motivate you more, even if he is still beating the shit out of you.

Blue also motivates you. "Hit his nose again!"

Of course, that is the one part of him you purposely avoid.

The sun returns and sweat glides down your face. You knee his stomach. It's less vulnerable than swinging a kick, but still, he attempts to grab you by the waist. You quickly skirt away, the ground firmer beneath your feet, only for his hand to latch onto one of your braids, instead. A sting pulses through your scalp as he tugs hard, wrenching your ear close to his mouth.

"Quicker. Good. But don't get too cocky."

"I thought you wanted me to be more confident," you retort between ragged breaths.

"Yes, but you can't forget who has the advantage here." There is the slightest bit of arrogance in his voice that makes your teeth grit.

"How could I ever forget?" Your head tilts and he releases the braid. Suddenly, the thought of smacking his nose again doesn’t seem so bad.

His eyebrow quirks. "Get some water, Twix. You need it."

The water caresses your tongue as you gulp it down without abandon. Unsurprisingly, Blue has disappeared somewhere in the treetops. The lack of more broken bones has waned her interest.

When Ghost lifts his mask to drink, you steal a glance at his nose, noticing that the swelling has gone down significantly. The fact he is still wearing that thing with a broken nose upholds your theory that he is at least slightly insane— as if the fact that he once shoved a gun into your fresh wound wasn’t already evidence of that.

Out of nowhere, he materializes beside you and places a hand on your stomach. Your sore muscles spasm under the surprise of his touch, his long fingers stretching from one side of your ribs to the other.

"Your strength starts here,” he explains in a hoarse murmur. “Keep it tight and you will deliver more damage."

You purse your lips to hide a wince and tap your nose. "Don’t I already deliver enough damage?"

"The nose is fragile. You may be landing more hits on me, but I still hardly feel a thing from them."

He allows you to pry his hand off, but the pressure of it seems to linger. Ghost studies you in a way that turns you translucent before demanding, "Lift your shirt, Twix."

Exhaling through your nose, you hesitate before peeling it up, revealing the collection of bruises you have earned from him. A myriad of pink, purple, and yellow skin flares up under his gaze. They have been giving you a hard time lacing your boots and tying your hair in the morning, but once you get moving, the ache becomes easier to ignore.

He has already seen your stomach and more, yet, your skin itches from the exposure. You shove the shirt back down.

His expression shifts. "You should have said something."

"They're just bruises. I'm not bleeding or anything."

"Still."

"Still what?"

He looks irritated. "You need to fucking communicate."

"I don't see why it matters. No coddling, right?"

"That doesn't mean I'm interested in breaking you."

You jerk your chin up to meet his stare. “You won't."

Blue swings down from a tree, plopping between the two of you and unintentionally—thankfully—putting an end to the subject. "I'm glad you two are finally getting along. It's good for the team." She nudges her dad. "But are you done with her yet? You can't just hog Twix all to yourself."

He clears his throat and the air between your bodies breathes wider. "If you're getting bored maybe we need to find something for you to practice."

"Nope!" she says quickly. "Not bored at all."

He nods to a tree. "Go on. Practice your knives. You haven't done that in a while. Then, you can have her."

With a groan, she trudges away.

The sparring continues.

Ghost's fists soften by a smidge.

"He annoys the shit out of me sometimes."

Blue rips up a tuft of grass as you inch back to admire the swipe of color on her eyelids. It was her idea to use the bold-colored flowers for makeup— just like the models in her magazines. You did your best to mash the petals and mix them with some creekwater, but the result is kind of patchy and not nearly as smooth as the stuff you used to put on years ago.

"Hold still. I'm doing your cheeks next."

The sun highlights the splash of freckles on her cheeks and you try to recall if Ghost had them. Her nose is nothing like his. A dainty button. Another trait she must've gotten from her mom.

"Did you used to wear makeup?" she asks curiously, eyelashes fluttering down.

"Sometimes. Especially when I went out."

"Went out where?"

Concentration nudges between your brows. "To clubs and stuff. It's where people would... dance."

Her lips spread as she cocks her head to the side in a manner that emulates her dad. You have to remind her again to stop moving. “Oh. Sorry. You danced?"

"I mean, not good dancing. Just dancing for fun,” you murmur, shrugging at the faint memories of being sandwiched between strangers, alcohol flowing through your veins rather than fear and adrenaline. Back then, mornings were spent nursing a hangover before class rather than earning bruises from an ex-lieutenant.

Humor dances in her eyes when they reopen. "I don't think Ghost ever went to a club. I cannot imagine him dancing."

The images in your mind morph into something utterly laughable— him standing there like an immovable tank as people try to dance around him. "No, probably not."

"He never really tells me about his life before shit happened," she says thoughtfully.

This piques your curiosity, but you keep your voice light. "No?"

"Well, he tells me the simple stuff. Mostly about his job. But never... never the small things, you know? Like I have no idea what he used to do for fun or what his life was like when he was a kid." She pauses a moment before adding, "He had a brother. That much I know."

You glance up. "Had?"

"He died before the virus. His mom and dad, too. But every time I ask how they died, he just says," she deepens her voice, "'Doesn't matter how, kid. Dead is dead.'"

"Oh, um, yeah, that sounds like something he would say." You tap your fingers under her chin. "I can put some on your lips, too."

Her eyes close again as she puckers her lips out. When you're done, she continues. "He also never talks about my mom." Her face twists. “I think he thinks talking about her will hurt my feelings."

For a few seconds, you struggle to find a response. The rare mention of her mom always makes your heart stutter, but this time, your broken, callused hand reaches out to brush a strand of hair behind her ear.

"It's okay to feel hurt, you know."

Blue shrugs and looks up at the cobalt sky. "I don't think I remember her enough to feel that hurt anymore. She feels so... far away. I remember small things, like the sound of her voice and her old apartment where I lived, but sometimes I wonder if I am making up those memories, you know what I mean?"

"Yeah, I know what you mean." A terrible urge sits on your tongue to ask her more about her mom, about what exactly her relationship was like with Ghost, but Blue changes the subject before you can.

"Does the makeup look good?" A shy blush clouds her cheeks.

You stand up with a faint smile. "I think I did pretty damn good. Come on. I want you to go look in the mirror."

Music.

It pounds so hard you feel it in your chest.

Neon walls enclose you as someone touches your backside, dancing against you. There is a man's voice in your ear that you think you recognize but it's hard to hear him through all the laughing and chatter. Your hair falls in loose curls down your back, free of braids, and you swipe it from your sweaty skin before excusing yourself to the bathroom.

You push through the people. The narrow hall is shrouded with different doors... so many doors. Where is the bathroom? It must be a Friday night on Oxford Street with how fucking crowded and stuffy this place is. Someone knocks into you roughly and your footsteps quicken. A sense of urgency drags you into the next door you come across, a large one made of grey oak.

The smell is horrendous but you feel relieved to see urinals and stalls. Immediately, you press into the granite counter and grip the edge as you catch your breath. The scratched, warped mirror houses a face covered in makeup. Youthful eyes. Flushed cheeks. How much have you had to drink? You need to go home. You will pee and then go home, you tell yourself. Over and over, you repeat this as you relieve yourself in one of the graffiti-doused stalls where condom and tampon wrappers crinkle beneath your heels.

When you're done, you try for the large door you came through, but it doesn't budge. The muffled music outside has faded. Panic sears your chest. You press your back against the door. The bathroom has changed. The stalls are gone. The walls feel like they are closing in, and the smell of piss turns into something even worse. You are alone. Where is the man you came with? You look down. Dead bodies. Strewn limbs. You're standing on a pile of them.

You start screaming. Banging on the door. Digging your fingers into the wood until the flesh rubs down to bone.

It's not a room anymore, but a box. The fluorescent lights replaced by sheer darkness.

The edges of the door disappear.

A sickening silence replaces your screams.

And then—

"Twix."

You sit up, wild-eyed. You grip onto something—fabric—and a foul taste travels up your throat without warning. You heave several times, your entire body shuddering.

When awareness settles in, you wipe your mouth and blink up. Ghost. He is... here. Hovering over you. His shirt is tightly bunched between your fingers and you have just vomited into it. The realization smacks you awake and you recoil sharply, staring at his moonlit mask with an expression that must be just short of mortified.

"I... Fuck. I am so sorry. I don't know why— I just..."

When you dare to look at the mess you've left on him, you nearly vomit again. Hands shaking, you rub at your clammy face and begin to ramble unthinkingly as his stare flickers between you and his soiled shirt.

"I've been trying so hard not to hold back like you said, but I think it is fucking me up a little and letting out some things— memories, I guess. I was pretty good about keeping it all in my box because I've been too tired to even think about it, but now I just..." You trail off, realizing your words must make little sense.

"You've certainly let something out," he rasps.

Your hands drop against the sofa and you cringe. "I'll wash it for you. I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing."

You inhale. "I just fucking threw up on you."

"I'm aware."

Ghost straightens. He pinches the collar of his shirt and carefully hoists it over his head. Then, you're looking at his bare chest. Slivers of moonlight caress rigid brawn and mountainous scars that capture your gaze for a few heartbeats before you tear it away.

"I'll, um, hang it outside and... wash it in the morning."

Your legs are unnervingly steady when you stand up and take the shirt from him, carefully grabbing it by a dry spot. You are relieved to get away from him, draping it over the porch and swallowing gulps of fresh air before you go back inside, praying he's gone back to bed.

Luckily, he has. When the empty living room greets you, you sink to the sofa and palm your eyes. Then, you notice something left on the pillow. A cigarette. You pick it up and recall the few times you smoked whenever your friends offered one. The taste never sat well with you.

You rummage for your lighter. The first inhale burns terribly, but you cough into the pillow and try again. It starts to calm you down after a few times, and only when you've gotten to the butt of it do you go back to sleep.

"No wonder you're not getting stronger if you throw up like that every night."

Not even five minutes into training the next morning he brings it up. The rest of your sleep ended abruptly when he got you up at an unearthly time, probably to avoid having Blue as an audience. You are too winded to even scowl, your fists held tight in front of your face as you try to predict where he will aim next.

"I told you. That was the first night in a while."

"Right. Something about a box, huh?"

"Can we just forget about it, please?"

"Hard to forget when my shirt still smells."

"I washed it the best I could."

The next dodge has your head flying down fast enough to undo one of your braids. Hair slips over your face and you huff, holding your hand up. "Hold on. Give me a minute."

As you undo the other one and opt for shoving your hair into a tight bun instead, he watches you strangely. The feel of his stare ignites a spark of irritation and you flash him a sideways glance. "Look, thank you for the cigarette and everything else you have ever done for me, but you can stop looking at me like that. Like you... pity me. I'm not going to break, I'm not going to ask you to kill me again. Everyone left in this world has nightmares and mine probably aren't the worst of them."

"I don't pity you," he says. "I am just trying to understand you."

"Why?" You finish the bun and drop your arms awkwardly at your sides.

"It's important to understand your ally."

"Oh. Is that what we are?"

His eyes narrow. "Obviously. I wouldn't bother wasting my time with this every day if we weren't."

"Good to know you aren't doing it because you owe me."

"You know what I mean, Twix," he growls.

"No, I don't." You throw your arms up. "I don't know what you mean and I don't know why you never killed me because you had every reason to, and I definitely don't understand you, so I guess we make terrible allies, Ghost."

"What is with you?" He cocks his head to the side, tone mild with curiosity. "So talkative all of the sudden."

"I have no problem talking when the other person isn't blatantly ignoring me."

His brows lift. "Fair enough."

A deep inhale flares your nostrils before you spread your stance. "I'm ready now."

Despite your claim of readiness, he quickly backs you into a defensive position that has you frustrated once again. You don't understand why, but your progress slips. You keep having to adjust your stance and all of your attempts to hit him fail. It's not long before he locks you against a tree with a tattooed forearm against your neck.

"You aren't focused today," he accuses.

"Damn, you're observant," you breathe out.

"Jesus fucking Christ. If I wanted to listen to someone mouthing off, I'd get Blue out here." He presses a bit harder and your throat twitches. "I'm not going to threaten you anymore, but clearly, you think straighter when you channel your anger, so whatever you were dreaming about last night— get it out of your head."

He's right. You breathe deep and try sorting through everything in your head, focusing on just the anger, but it's like fishing in murky water. When he releases you, more of the same happens. This time, you end up on your butt. Ghost glares down at you, circling like a vulture.

"You were doing good the past few days. What the hell is this?"

"I told you," you say through your teeth, brushing off the dirt from your jeans. "Letting out my anger means letting everything else in the box out and it is... confusing me. Making my head fuzzy, I guess."

His chest expands with a deep breath and his pointed stare turns meticulous. "Explain this box to me."

You hesitate for a moment. "It's just... where I put away all of the shit that would otherwise make me insane."

"And what is wrong with being a little insane, Twix? This world is insane. Might as well match it."

Your mouth opens, then closes. You struggle for an answer and rub your temples. "I don't know. Being insane means losing myself completely. I mean, I have already changed so much in the past five years. Like I said, I was never meant to be this person."

"What person? A person who survives? A person who does what she has to?"

"A person who hurts others," you grit out. "A person who kills."

"You've killed people, right?" he roughly asks and you nod. "Then you're a killer. You were always meant to be a killer. End of story." His words strike you, and you begin to shake your head defensively, but he continues before you can muster a reply. "The past five years haven't changed you, they have revealed who you are. Now—" he raises his fists, "—open the stupid box and turn everything you feel into anger. All of it. It is valuable fuel that will continue to keep you alive."

He swings.

A kaleidoscope of long-ignored memories flashes through your brain when he hits your sore stomach. Your family. Your friends. The life stolen from you.

And then— you recover your footing and slam a boot into his knee. It loosens his stance just enough for you to throw yourself at him, effectively knocking him over. The ground welcomes your bodies again, but this time, you grip his shoulders and wind up on top, practically laying all of your weight on him. A few harsh breaths expel from your nose before you become fully aware of the position, the heat from his chest pressing into your breasts.

Quickly, you splay your hands flat against him and sit up straight, thighs spread over his narrow hips. Ghost could easily flip you over and pin you if he wanted. But instead, he crosses his arms behind his head.

"Comfortable?" you ask him breathlessly, raising a brow.

"Quite. Though, if this were real, I suggest an elbow to the neck once you've got them down."

"So you admit it, then. I got you down."

"I allowed it."

"Sure." Your teeth snag on your lip and you lightly brush a finger over his masked nose, detecting a tick in the hinge of his jaw. "Then I will 'allow' you to keep this for now, but next time, I might do more than just break it."

His eyes widen imperceptibly before he quickly recovers. "Ah. So you are a person who hurts others, then. Someone was trying to tell me otherwise."

Your lips twitch at the corner on their own accord. "Shut the fuck up."

He simply stares at you for a pregnant pause before clearing his throat. "I did allow it, but that was good. You focused on the anger, didn't you?"

You nod. "Yeah, I did. Is that what you do all the time?" you ask curiously. "Just get angry and kill people?"

"Pretty much."

By the tone of his voice, a deep brass that reverberates through all the places your bodies touch, you are certain he's joking. Realizing that you are still on top of him, you push off his chest and swing a leg over, careful not to knee his face or let him see the deep flush that crawls over every inch of your skin.

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #fanfiction #ghost #zombie apocolypse au

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http-paprika · 7 months

Text

what's left / simon "ghost" riley

part two

zombie-apocalypse!au / pairing simon "ghost riley x female reader / wc 2186 / warnings brief gore, illusions to violence, typical end of the world angst, swearing.

summery ghost is tasked with escorting y/n to edinburgh to help with creating the cure for the zombie outbreak. it wasn't in the plan for him to fall along.

note y'all liked my post about writing something for this, so hopefully you'll enjoy this story. um, not actually heavy in terms of zombie appearances, but i have plans for another part to this story if ya'll end up enjoying this.

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Ghost stayed seated, back flat against the wall as he watched Y/N sleep and breathe slowly, her chest rising and falling steadily. He couldn’t imagine that the small cot was comfortable, or even very warm, but she seemed to be at peace. The only look of relief he’d seen on her face since their first unfortunate meeting. The painful memory of sirens blaring, people screaming in confusion, and the gut-wrenching, squelching noise of rotting flesh moving through the compound.

A shiver ran down Ghost’s back at the memory, he stiffened, hardening his clutch around his gun, but the night stayed enjoyably silent. It was quiet in a way he didn’t know, lacking the noise cities and towns used to have, the area around him was drenched in an inky black, and the only light provided was from the moon and stars above that cut through the cracks in the window.

She shifts in her sleep next to him, twitching involuntarily, a bad dream he supposed. Without a thought, Ghost reached down with a gloved hand, brushing it against her cheek, down her neck. The touch stills her, Y/N’s body easing again from the gesture.

“Fucking hell.” He quietly mutters to himself, in the dim light, he moves the blanket to check the wound on her leg. His fingers graze the stained gauze bandaging, wincing knowing how much worse it could’ve been. How much worse Ghost had seen.

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“We’ve got reports of outbreaks in all major cities across the United Kingdom and the world.” The news was completely ignored as the military compound was in disarray, chaos sweeping through as soldiers moved out. Everything was pure chaos, the streets were filled with blood and bones, corpses piling up as the flesh-craving, rabid creatures spread like wildfire. The consequence of biological warfare and the weapons it made. Man had played god and met its destruction when they decided to use their own as a tool.

Ghost’s body was tired, threatening to give out under him as he gunned down more of the creatures. Maggots was the name Soap had decided to call them as they fought back, killing those who’d once been fellow soldiers. But if he stopped now, he’d be swarmed by the infected, and if not ripped apart limb-by-limb, he’d receive a fate worse than death.

“We’ve got medical personnel barricaded in the infirmary, we need to get them out of there and moved to the QZ.” Price barked at Ghost over the comms, he was closet to the infirmary, near the outer hall that led to the medical wing. He groaned loudly, fearing what would happen if he tried to move, but the orders stood firm, and while the government was falling apart, he still acted as a soldier for his country.

“Moving there now.”

It was in that dark infirmary, where he could hear the Maggots beating against the outside walls that he first saw her. Gun clutched in her hands, blood splattered across her clothes and skin, and a grave of personnel who’d been turned in the infirmary as he dragged her out of the closet. Y/N kicked and screamed, scarred that he was dragging her to her death, but she went limp once he’d thrown her over his shoulder, his arm securing her in place as he moved her to the cleared tarmac. Past the growing swarms of flies that flocked to dead humans and Maggots alike.

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“Ghost?” Her quiet voice echoed through the dark room, he gazed at her bruised face. Frowning, Simon wiped some of the grime from the journey off.

“Right here, Y/N.” Ghost sighed, she opened her mouth to speak but closed it again. “How do you feel?”

“Probably just as bad as you.” Y/N brought her leg up, closing it to her chest so she could tug at the bandaging. “Need to change to gauze.”

“Let me do that, Y/N. No need to stress yourself, you need to rest.” He tells her, reaching over to her backpack, reaching inside, and finding her small kit of supplies. The container was beginning to run low, he didn’t like to think about what would happen if they didn’t get to Edinburgh soon. What had been planned, had gone astray.

“Ghost, you need to rest too. I’m not going to be falling back asleep.” She forces the gauze and antiseptic wipes out of his hands and into hers. “You need to rest, otherwise you’ll just be a bag of bones.”

Wiping his face with his hand and letting out a low groan, Ghost knew she was right. He’d had little rest the past few days and knew how it would delay his reaction time and ability to keep her safe. “Are you sure? I don’t want you-”

“I’ll be fine, and if I have even the slightest suspicion that something is wrong, I’ll wake you up. I promise.” Y/N assures him. Ghost reluctantly agrees, his body grateful at the idea of rest, even if it was for just a brief moment.

“Swear it.”

“I swear I’ll wake you up. Please, sleep.” She promises, shifting into a seating position. Ghost stayed seated, but let his head rest against the walls and allowed his eyes to droop. Exhaustion won the battle against his willpower as he drifted off.

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“We need to get her to Edinburgh, they have the tools, the chance to get a cure made. And she’s got the knowledge they need.” Price more often than not, was raising his voice at people. Even with the QZ safely established, and the initial surge dying down, there was too much uncertainty and too much loss for him to act rationally. Ghost knew this, he acted the same, snapping too quickly nowadays at already terrified soldiers under him. Sometimes he felt as mindless and flesh-eating as the Maggots, sniffing out fear like the infected sniffed out their next victim.

It seemed selfish to fight against the order he’d be given, foolish and self-centered. But what real chance did they have at creating a cure to stop the virus and its continued spread? Rumors had circulated that the Americans had been in the early stages of developing a counteract to the outbreak, but England had lost contact with all allies months ago. They could only rely on themselves, and even that seemed a stretch.

“Why don’t you get someone else?” Someone disposable, Ghost thought, as he knew the chances of successfully getting someone across the wasteland of England up to Edinburgh were almost impossible. Vehicles, cars, or helis were out of the question, fuel was strictly saved for powering and keeping the QZ warm. Which left him with no other option but to walk, for three weeks through towns, cities, and country filled with Maggots. A certain death.

“Because you’re the only one I trust to get her there.”

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The sun poured into the room, Ghost’s eyes flickered open before he jolted himself fully awake. His heart slammed in his chest, panic seeping through his veins. How long had he been asleep? Next to him, Y/N lay turned into his side, pressed into the side of his ribs. Ghost found the gun still propped against the wall next to him, he brought it back into his grip and surveyed the room around. All was quiet, all was at ease. Almost as if the outbreak hadn’t happened, destroying mankind in its wake.

Ghost wished Y/N had woken him up the moment she’d grown tired, but he didn’t have it in himself to be mad. For a high-achieving doctor, who always strove to be efficient, Ghost was a bit annoyed by her lack of responsibility. But she looked so beautiful in the early morning light, under the layer of dirt and grime that clung to her skin, Ghost’s eyes lingered on her rosy cheeks and soft lips.

He hated to break the silence or drag her awake, but they needed to move. Their location would only stay safe for so long. “Y/N. We need to get going.”

The woman grumbled at his words, trying to bury herself closer to Ghost’s side. He smirks at her action, prying her hands off of his body. His fingers grazed the veins and took comfort in the steady flow of blood in her body.

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Dry grass crunched under his feet as he carried her to the abandoned farmhouse. Set away from the road and society, no Rotten would wander this far from a horde. They’d be safe, safer than they’d been in the town where they’d been attacked by raiders. Y/N let out a whimper as he set her down on the ground, needing his hands to pry open the heavy wooden door. Her hand moved down to the poorly bandaged leg, where the large gash lay from where she’d been struck during the attack.

The hinges of the door creak as it opens, Ghost steps in, pistol raised and ready to survey the room. The farm, much like everything else around them, was abandoned. He didn’t care to think what had happened to those who’d lived there before, death had lost its sting for Ghost long ago.

Pulling Y/N back into his arms, Ghost moved back into the house, setting her down on the sagging settee in the living room. He moved down to the wounded leg, and as he began to unwrap the gauze, she winced, cringing as the cold, stale air greeted her wound. Y/N’s body shook uneasily, and her breathing was swallowed.

“Sorry.” Ghost apologizes, pulling open her medical kit. But his stomach churned uncomfortably at the wound, it was still oozing.

“S’gonna need stitches.” Y/N groans, dropping her head back down against the arm of the settee after evaluating the wound and its condition. “I can do it myself, but I’ll need you to find needle and thread.”

“I’ll find it, and I’ll do it myself. You’re in no condition to attempt to stitch yourself up.” He grunts, standing back up and beginning to search the room they were in for the needed materials.

“But-”

“No buts, Y/N. I’ve done this before, I can do it again.” Ghost states, opening a closet that was still stocked with sewing supplies. Plenty of needles, and a variety of colorful threads. He chose the one that was closest to medical thread, placing it and the small plastic container of needles down on the coffee table.

As he began to sew the wound closed, Y/N’s eyes began to water, and she gripped the fabric of the settee grinding her teeth. Ghost felt the need to keep apologizing to her, over and over again until he’d tightly secured the stitching with a knot. She let out a strained sob as he wiped the skin clean of dried blood with a cloth and some water from his canteen.

“I’m sorry, it’s done now.” He promised her, yanking his dirty gloves off and dropping them on the coffee table next to his discarded backpack and the harder outer layer of his mask. “You’re okay, I promise.” Ghost assures her, taking Y/N’s face in his calloused hands. She nods, her lips still trembling.

There wasn’t a thought in his mind as he pressed a kiss on the side of her cheek. He brought her body close to his, breathing in the smell of her skin, the blood, sweat, and tears. They stayed like that for a while, he allowed her to cry into his neck, his hands running through her knotted hair.

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His gaze falls on her as she fights the knots out of her hair, trying to manage just a bit before they set out again. While Ghost wouldn’t admit it, his body was painfully numb from all the walking they’d done the past weeks, wishing they’d made it to Edinburgh already. But he feared what would happen when they did arrive. The quiet moments he’d come to enjoy with Y/N would disappear. She’d return to her duty, struggling to make a cure. And what purpose would he have? The idea of attempting to return to London alone was a dangerous one. He assumed the military up there would put him to work. But would he ever get to spend any more cold nights, keeping her warm?

“I’m ready.” Y/N finally announces to him, pulling her backpack over her shoulders.

“‘Bout damn time.” Ghost huffs, offering her his hand to steady herself with. She wobbles a bit, unsure of how much weight she can put on her leg without it giving out underneath her. “Alright?”

“Yeah.” She nods but Ghost drops his arm down around her waist, adding extra support. “Ghost-”

“Let me help you.” He asks, leaning down and kissing her face. The rough material of the mask brushed against her raw skin. Y/N grasps at the mask, trying to remove the barrier between them. With reluctance, he breaks away from her lips, knowing his action is dangerous with consequences that could hurt. “Another time, Y/N. Need to save our breath.”

note so, i'll admit, i left the worst of the angst out of this. but- i may decide to deliver the rest if ya'll are curious about how gut-wrenching my writing can actually get.

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #call of duty mw2 #ghost #simon ghost riley x reader #cod mw22 #ghost mw2 #fanfic #y/n #zombie apocalypse #call of duty zombies #zombies!au #ghost x reader #ghost x y/n #female reader #angst fanfic #i may have also been thinking about pedro pascal as joel miller #dont judge

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xmalereader · 1 year

Text

Leon Kennedy RE4R X Male Reader X Simon Riley

|| Masterlist ||

Authors note: Sorry for the delay, it’s been a crazy few days due to me preparing for my birthday trip next week and wanting to have everything ready, but here is another Leon shot’ enjoy!

Summary: Leon and reader are tasked to work with 141 after they stumble upon there business, getting involved and needing information about an Umbrella lab. What Leon doesn’t know is that his boyfriend of five years dated the lieutenant and used to be apart of the 141 before he met and worked with Leon.

Warnings: Fluff, slight angst, past toxic relationships, kissing, confessions, age gaps, RE4R Leon, price gives off dad vibes, ghost used to be a dick, past relationships, mentions of Ada, missions, blood, gore, flirting, teasing

Word count: 4.7k

Leon wasn’t one to get worried easily towards someone he knows who can take care of themselves, but after their small briefing about there next mission his partner has been acting strange. He didn’t start acting differently until after the briefing, his leg bouncing nervously when he sat next to him and his hands fidgeting with his holster or watch that he wore on his wrist.

Leon knew these were sign of being nervous, but of what? Y/n wasn’t one to get nervous during a mission he was always enthusiastic and finding the positive in everything, he always found ways to lighten up the mood whenever they were together but today was different.

Not only was he nervous but quiet too. Leon was driving them to there destination while Y/n stared out the window. He was quiet, he was the one who always started conversations but his quietness was getting Leon worried.

Leon’s gaze is focused on the road as he hesitantly opens and closes his mouth until he gets the courage to ask.

“You alright?”

Y/n tore his gaze away from the window view and turns to Leon. “What? Oh! Yeah, I’m alright just tired.” He shrugs softly with a small smile before looking back outside. The car goes back to being silent, Leon sighing to himself as his hand gripped around the steering wheel and decides to let it go for now.

It too another hour before arriving to there destination outside of a small town where they are to meet with a man named John Price who had some further intel for them. Both Y/n and Leon knew that not many people know about Umbrella and the bioweapons that they have created due to them being damage control and keeping the whole thing well hidden. There were a few times where the weapons harmed many civilians and caused a lot of damage that they had to fix. They just hope that this mission wasn’t too much trouble for the both of them.

Upon arrival, Leon parks the car in a motel lot where they step out to get ready. Y/n pulls his phone out and checks the location they are to meet up with Price. “We’re about two blocks away from our location, we can make it by foot if we take the alleys and stay hidden.” He explains, he turns to watch Leon check his things making sure that his had his gun and knife.

“Sounds good to me.” He closes the trunk and puts on his jacket to hide his weapons, scanning the area to see if anyone was watching them only to find no one. The two start there walk towards their location, taking shortcuts and staying out of sight from civilians.

Y/n wouldn’t check his GPS tracker every couple of minutes, telling Leon that they were getting close. “We take another left down this street and we should see one of Prices men—goes by the name of Gaz.”

Leon chuckles. “Gaz? What kind of name is that?”

“It could be a code name.” Y/n reminds Leon, rolling his eyes with a small laugh escaping his lips, bringing a smile to Leon’s face. He’s starting to feel less worried now that his partner is talking and laughing again.

Y/n looks around until he spots Gaz, leaning against a wall with his hands in the pockets of his jacket, wearing a black cap to keep his face hidden in case anyone was watching them. His attention turns towards the tow and grins when spotting Y/n alongside with his Leon.

“Well, if it isn’t little fish.”

Y/n’s face heats up in embarrassment by his old code name. “Hello, Gaz.” He responds back with a small grumble while looking away. “We’re here for Price.”

“Right, this way.” Gaz nods towards the entrance of a building hidden well in an alleyway as both Y/n and Leon followed him. Leon sticks close to Y/n, narrowing his eyes at Y/n in questioning, wanting to know understand the relation between the two.

“Here we are.”

The three enter the building, Gaz closing the door after the two step inside first and take a look around to see two other men one masked and one not, arranging their weapons and keeping a close eye on the two. The one with the skull mask stopped what he was doing and watched Y/n carefully who takes notice of this. His own gaze snaps away from him and focused his attention on either Gaz or his partner.

“Little fish.”

Y/n frowns, looking up to see Price standing on the other side of a table that stood between them. His arms crossed over his chest as he huffs out a chuckle, shaking his head in amusement. “When they told me I’d be meeting up with a special agent I didn’t expect it to be you, little fish.”

Leon glanced at Y/n who clears his throat. “It’s Ace now—not little fish.”

“You’ll always be little fish to me.” Price states before turning to Leon. “You must be Leon Kennedy.”

“Yes, sir.” Leon greets in return. “Y/n and I were assigned in a task that we wish to complete—we were told that you found something that could help us.” Leon is quick to get to business, not wanting to think about the thought of his partner knowing who these men were when he had no idea.

“Right to business I see.” Prices voice grows serious as he digs into a duffel bag that sat on top of the table. “My team and I got intel from an inside friend who was helping us track down one of our targets. He gave us the coordinates of one of his hide outs, which we later raided only to find these—“ Price pulls out a small grey container with the worlds ‘Umbrella’ labeled on it along with its logo. “We didn’t find our target but we believe they’re working with Umbrella.”

Y/n takes the container in his hands, examining it and frowning deeply before passing it over to Leon who takes it in his own hands. “How long since you’ve found this?” Leon suddenly asks, getting everyone’s attention.

“About a week ago.”

“Shit.” Y/n mumbled out as both he and Leon look at each other already knowing that whoever is working with Umbrella would have already spread there work around the area.

“Did you find anything else at this location?” Leons asks again.

“A few people.”

Y/n froze at the sound of a familiar deep voice, glancing up to see Ghost standing on the opposite side of the table, arms crossed too as he leans down close. “People, you say?” Y/n swallows nervously, trying to keep eye contact with ghost but knew that he was doing a terrible job.

Ghost nods. “They were dead when we found them but they were strapped on tables—human experiments from what it looked like.”

Leon sets the umbrella test down and nudged Y/n to get the man’s attention, tearing his gaze away from Ghost and back to Leon. His tense body relaxed once his eyes land on Leon’s blue ones, feeling safe and comfortable.

“We need to get to that lab.”

“Are you crazy? That place was bonkers and full of things no human should see.” Soap speaks up from where he sat, glaring at the two. “Besides it’s too dangerous.”

“Our job is to eliminate Umbrella and this,” Leon holds up the Umbrella test to show the others. “Could be a virus that they were using on those people and we have to stop it before it spreads but we need more information before we do anything else and need access to that lab.”

“It’s dangerous.” Price interrupts.

“So, what if it’s dangerous? We’re here for a reason.” Leon adds, stating the fact that this was there job. There mission and they were here to get it done. Leon wasn’t going to allow this virus to spread and deal with another racoon city situation.

“Price, the location is all we need and then will be out of your hair.” Y/n’s voice is soft, easing the tension between them and provides a small smile. “Leon and I will handle the situation.”

Price sighs. “It won’t be easy getting there. It was empty when we left but heavily guarded now a few who escaped came back and we need to turn them in. So, we’re involved with this too and will help.”

Y/n sighs deeply. “Very well, it’s going to be dangerous.” He warns while Price smirked. “I know.”

—

The ride there is silent due to them all piling up into one vehicle in order to make the ride there faster and not having to take separate cars. Gaz and Price are both sitting in the front, navigating on the driving and locating the lab while Ghost and Soap are in the back sitting across from Leon and Y/n.

Soap is watching Leon cautiously who’s leaning back in his spot, arms folded across his chest as he stares down Soap too while Y/n suffers from Ghost gazing down at him, his eyes never leaving him and watching his every move. Y/n shifts uncomfortably and tries to focus on something else.

“Soo, little fish?” Leon decided to cut the tension, side eyeing Y/n who groans. “It’s a stupid code name that was given to me when I first started. I was the youngest out of everyone and always asking too many questions and following them around.” He explains.

Leon chuckled. “Sounds more like a puppy to me.”

Y/n blushed deeply and nudged him roughly on the ribs. “I’m not a dog.” He hissed out but, Leon isn’t phased by his roughness towards him. “Sure your not.” The two smiling at each until Ghost speaks up.

“So, why ace?”

Ghost sits up straight and leans in close, his eyes narrowing under his skull mask as he looks at Leon up and down before turning to his partner who froze.

“I—Uh, we—“

Leon frowns in concern, never seeing his partner react in such way. The two have faced the dead rising, saving the presidents daughter from the Plagas along with Raccoon city. Leon learned that Y/n was always confident when speaking and showed no signs of hesitation but, he shows no sign of confidence when around Ghost. The puzzle pieces are sticking together on Leon’s head, noticing that Ghost made him react in a nervous matter.

“We—“

“Sherry gave him that name.” Leon cuts in. “Both Y/n and I rescued a little girl named sherry who was in a terrible situation. She gave Y/n the name Ace because he always got things right—whether we were in a good or bad situation he knew what to do and how to get us out of it. Also because he’s a good damn shot.”

Y/n smiled a little. “Sherry gave me my name. At the end of the day I kept it. It felt right like it belonged to me—no offense but I never liked being little fish. I felt like I was being treated like a kid.” He mumbled the last few words to himself, moving back in his seat and looking over his shoulder to stare out the window. The day was growing dark and the sun would set soon, they’d be arriving to the lab by nightfall, making things bit complicated for him and Leon.

They didn’t mind working on the dark but whenever it come towards labs they had to be extra careful and not touch anything that can affect them. Leon has been infected once before and the man wouldn’t want to go through that again.

“Will be arriving to the lab in two hours.” Gaz shouts from the front getting the others attention. The back grows quiet with Y/n leaning his head on Leon’s shoulder while the other doesn’t seemed phase by his actions, used to his touch.

It didn’t take them long to arrive before Leon is nudging Y/n awake, whispering to him that they were here and needed to get ready. The whole team is standing outside of the vehicle, getting their weapons ready as Leon and Y/n look up ahead to see the lab from a distance.

Y/n had some binoculars to check out the area, frowning. “I see three guards.” He says out loud for Leon to hear.

“See anything or anyone familiar?”

Y/n shakes his head, handing him the binoculars. “Nothing, it’s possible that it’s someone knew who got there hands on a virus. We don’t know what kind of virus it is yet.” He hopes that the virus isn’t the same as Raccoon city, it’s possible that it’s already spreading unless they haven’t done anything with it yet.

“Do you think sending Rebecca a sample will help us know if it’s a virus or a cure to a virus?” Y/n asked Leon.

Leon sighs to himself. “We can send her a sample in case we don’t find anything in this lab, right now we need to make sure that it doesn’t spread.” He looks over his shoulder to see Prices team gearing up, checking to make sure they have everything before going in.

“It’s best if we split up into two groups, they don’t know what their getting themselves into but an expert on there side can help them.” Suggested Leon but Y/n is quick to decline.

“S-split up?” Y/n stutters out, eyes wide.

“Yeah, I’ll take Price and Gaz and you take Soap and Ghost—“

“Why don’t you take Soap and Ghost I’ll take Price and Gaz.” He cuts in fast, wanting to make the change.

Leon stands in front of him, hand on his hip as he cocked his head to the side. “Alright, talk.” He demands, his voice firm and rough which causes Y/n to flinch. “About what?” Y/n tries to act like he doesn’t know what he’s talking about or what he’s asking, but they both know that Leon isn’t one to be tested.

“You’ve been acting strange ever since we got here and I noticed that it had something to do with you and ghost.” Leon nods towards the team but doesn’t take his eyes off Y/n. “You gonna tell me what’s going on or am I going to have to ask him instead?”

“No!” Y/n shouts in panic.

“Then talk.”

Y/n plays with the strap of the binocs and sighs deeply. “Ghost and I used to date.” He mumbled out, getting Leon’s attention. “I used to work with the entire team and spent most of my times paired up with ghost. I was a rookie and the youngest one there—ghost was an asshole at first always demanding me to be better when fighting always checking me at the shooting range to make sure I wasn’t struggling. We had a rough start but as time went by things changed between us.” Y/n remembers the times that Ghost challenged him in combat, telling the others that he was ‘training’ him when he was really being an asshole and teaching him a lesson.

“We only dated for about a year.”

“What happened, if you don’t mind me asking?” Leon asks.

Y/n shakes his head, not minding his question. “We had an age gap that no too many people were fond of Si—Ghost thought I was uncomfortable with someone who was older than me and decided to end things. He went back to his old ways after and pretended like nothing happened and so, I left.” His eyes shift up to Leon who watched him close, his own blue eyes full of sympathy.

“Soo, that’s how I ended up here.” Y/n adds, giving him a nervous smile. After his break up with Simon and him going back to his old ways of being rough with him and degrading his work in the field he couldn’t stand being around him any longer. He knew that Simon was doing it to show others that they were never in a relationship but deep down inside it hurt Y/n badly to the point where he met up with Price to confirm his leave.

Price wasn’t too happy about him leaving but didn’t stop him from doing what he wanted. He instead found himself working Leon after their encounter in Raccoon city. Y/n wanted a fresh start and thought moving to another city would work only to arrive at the wrong time, both Leon and him meeting each other during the disaster and helping each other survive and leaving the city before anything else happened to them.

The two were forced to work with the government to clean up there dirty work giving them no choice. He’s stuck with Leon for a few years now and the two have grown closer with time. Leon had invited Y/n to dinner in a teasing matter only for Y/n to accept his offer, shocking Leon due to most of his dates being rejected and never being taken seriously.

The two have been together for five years, keeping their relationship a low profile and not letting anyone know about it. Leon had told Y/n about Ada when they saw her back in Spain and now, this is the first time that Y/n ever spoke about an ex of his own to Leon. He didn’t want to cause any trouble between the three of them and didn’t want this to interfere with there mission.

But, Leon had to know that something was wrong whenever he was around Ghost and now he knows why.

“Your not—?”

“Still in love with him?” Y/n finishes for Leon who nods.

“No.” Y/n answers. “I just don’t want him saying anything that’ll get you upset and do something stupid. He’s good with his words—don’t let him fool you.” He warns, giving Leon’s shoulder a soft pat before turning towards the other team and approaching them.

His stands up straight full of confidence this time, telling Leon about his past had taken a lot of weight off his shoulders and was feeling better about himself.

“Alright, I checked out the surroundings and they have a few guards outside the building. It’s possible that they have more inside.” He starts. “Both Price and Gaz will follow Leon inside the building, he will give you further instructions of what we are looking for and what to keep an eye out for while Ghost, Soap, and I take the guards down from the outside before meeting up with the rest.”

“And what are you looking for exactly?” Ghost asks, raising a brow under his mask while Y/n turns to him. “Anything we can find useful.” His answer is direct and firm, not allowing him to throw him off course on his mission.

“Any other questions?” He asks the team and takes their non response as an answer. “Very well, let’s go.”

As the others finish up, Leon approaches Y/n with a hand on his shoulder. “Sure you Can handle being around him?” He asked, wanting to be reassured that he can handle Ghost on his own. “We can still switch.”

“I’ll be okay, trust me.” Y/n gives Leon a smile, leaning up to kiss his cheek before taking his own gun out. “I’ll meet you up soon.” With that he heads towards ghost and soap. The team uses the dark to stay hidden, walking quietly and staying low as Y/n checked the guards every few seconds to make sure they were still in place.

Y/n uses his knife to take down the first two guards, slitting their throats and stabbing them in the head, who knows if they are infected or not but the head was always the main target to hit.

“Two down, more inside.” Y/n whispers, piping the door open and sweeping the entrance before signaling for the other two to enter. “Whoever you see, you aim for the head.” His index tapped his own temple. “They’ll go down faster.”

“They’ll?” Ghost questions.

“You don’t want to know what we can be up against. Just, aim for the head and try not to get attacked.” He holds up his gun and takes out a flashlight from his other pocket.

Leon will be hitting the lights soon, causing the entire lab to go dark. He checks his watch and counts down the seconds until the lights finally go out, giving him the chance to take anyone down with no issue. He turns on his flash light. “This way.” He orders the two, moving deeper into the lab.

They check hallways and rooms only to find them empty a few full of computers and desks but nothing too important, not until they reached the lower level where Y/n finds a hidden lab with test subjects strapped down on tables. His breath caught in his throat, eyes wide as he froze in place.

Both Ghost and Soap stand by his side, lowering there guns. “Fucking hell, what is this place?” Ghost mutters out while Y/n slowly began to move again, making his way to one of the rest subjects, gun still in hand.

“They can still be alive.” Said Soap, reaching out to touch one of the subjects but Y/n is quick to grab his arm, shoving it away. “No, don’t touch them.” He hissed out angrily.

“It’s not safe—there not safe.” Y/n clarified, looking over his shoulder to see one of them stir. “Shit—both of you get out now.”

“We can’t leave you!”

“I’ll be fine, go!” Y/n shouts at the two, glaring at them before Ghost gives a small nod and drags Soap out of the room, leaving Y/n on his own with a room full of infected people. He closed the doors behind him and sighs to himself.

Ghost and soap are standing outside in the hall with ghost pacing back and forth in worry only to head the sound of shuffling footsteps to his left, causing him to turn around sharply with his gun raised only to see the others.

“Ghost—where’s Y/n?” Price asks.

“He’s—“

The sound of gunshots is heard on the other side of the doors, everyone turns there head towards the double doors once the room goes silent.

Leon held his gun out, frowning deeply as the doors are pushed open to reveal an uninjured Y/n. Coming face to face with barrel of a guns.

“Oh.” Y/n chuckled nervously. “Sorry?”

Leon sighs in relief, lowering his gun and checking up on Y/n making sure that he wasn’t injured. “You alright?”

“Yeah, just had to handle something.” He nods at the entrance of the room which Leon peaks over his shoulder to see the test subjects strapped down, dead and unmoving. “I couldn’t allow them to escape and cause us anymore trouble.”

Leon puts his gun away. “Did you find anything?”

“No, you?”

Leon responds with shaking his head. “We checked the perimeter and found no signs of Umbrella.”

“I checked this lab.” Y/n turns around, heading back inside the room. “I found a few blood samples and checked the computers but nothing is showing up—it’s like they cleaned this place before we got here.”

A clean lab with no evidence wasn’t good for the two of them. They needed proof of what umbrella has been up too in order to figure out there next move, but the lab gave them nothing only a few test subjects and blood samples but not enough for them to know if they were testing a virus or if perhaps it’s already being used and sold to greedy companies who’d want something so dangerous for money.

“Check the computers again, will keep watch while you work.” Leon suggests as Y/n nods in agreement.

Both Soap and Ghost join Y/n inside, keeping a watch on the test subjects along with protecting Y/n who worked on the computer, hoping to find something useful. “Don’t touch anything.” Y/n repeats his warning to the two, knowing damn well that Soap will try to touch something he isn’t suppose too.

“If this place is so dangerous then why bring us here?” Ghost asks, standing behind Y/n who focused on the computer screen. “I didn’t drag you out here, you all got yourself involved.” He corrects the taller man, typing away while Ghost remained standing behind him.

Ghosts eyes cast over to the entrance where Leon spoke with Gaz and Price.

“You seem to be really close with your partner.”

“Yeah, and?” Y/n raises a brow.

“A little too close, I might say.”

Y/n scoffs lightly. “Am I hearing jealousy because that doesn’t suit you, but then again. I wouldn’t be surprised.” He digs into his pocket to pull out an empty USB that he connects to the system. “Besides, why do you even care? You didn’t show much care when we were together.” Y/n knows he’s right, when the two were together and dating it started off a bit rocky. There interactions were awkward and it became difficult for the two he spend time alone without being pulled out on missions or being disturbed by another teammate.

The two were together for a year but somehow, it never felt that long. Y/n was very young and he was head over heels for the man but after he got older he knew that it was all in his head and that his relationship was more of a situationship, being the one to try and make things work while Ghost didn’t put a lot of effort.

Y/n knew that they would soon break up over some dumb reason and ever after they split apart he was still heart broken.

“You know why I couldn’t.”

“Couldn’t or wouldn’t?” Y/n questions with a glare over his shoulder. “Admit it Ghost, you didn’t like our relationship—your rarely tried to make proper conversation or at least eat lunch or dinner together. I had to be the one to do that stuff and most of the time you were too busy to notice.” His fingers type away, finding a few hidden files that he’s quick to download.

“You think, Leon’s better?”

Y/n turns around in his seat, eyes full of anger. “He’s far better than you. At least he care about our relationship.”

“By putting you in danger?”

He laughs at Ghosts assumptions. “Ghost, even with you I was always in danger. I know I can get hurt with Leon too but at least we protect each other.” He turns back around to finish his work, taking the USB after downloading everything and coming to a stand. “I’ve got what I need, we can go.”

“Finally, this place gives me the creeps.” Said Soap who rushed out of the room with Y/n following behind.

“How long?” Ghosts deep voice catches Y/n attention, turning around to give him a confused look and ask. “What do you mean?”

“How long have you been together?”

“Why does that matter?”

Ghost steps forward, standing in front of him, there chests brushing up against each other. “In hopes of starting over and doing what’s right.”

Ghosts words cause a sad sigh to escape through Y/n’s nose, shaking his head sadly. “Five years.” He whispered, enough for him to hear as the older man hums. “Then in five years too late.”

“Yeah.” Y/n agreed to his words, taking a step back and turning around to head over to Leon. “I found a few things.” He lets Leon know who grins. “Told you you’d find something.” He nudged Y/n on the shoulder who pouts with a glare. “Next time you check, it’s not that easy.” He grumbled.

The two smiling at each other, happy to have each other.

#male reader #Simon Riley x male reader #ghost x male reader #ghost mw2 #leon Kennedy x male reader #leon Kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #RE4R #crossover #umbrella #zombies #AU

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