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habit-poxly · 1 year

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wild time

Simon “Ghost” Riley x GN!reader

zombie apocalypse au!

Pt. 1 << | Pt. 2

description: you’ve been surviving the apocalypse on your own for a very long time. after stumbling across a fire fight you met two British SAS soldiers who offer you assistance and company.

warnings: cannon typical violence, mentions of blood, restricted food

word count: 2.4K

When the British military was sent into Canada it was portrayed as the ‘end’ of the outbreak. Subsequently, the British Military found that it had all of the same issues in containing the virus as the government of Canada had. By the point help had arrived there was only a handful of strongholds across the continent that weren't overrun with the infection. It was highly infectious, highly effective and 100% fatal. Everything happened too quickly for anyone to really learn about what the infection was- what it did. All that was told to the public originally was that it was easily transmissible, made you highly aggressive and delirious, and that everyone needed to stay inside. No more updates were made after the first national announcement- there was hardly anyone left to listen.

The United Kingdom collapsed shortly after the outbreak reached its shores aswell- leaving hundreds of their very much alive and terrified soldier stranded on foreign soil to die. The competent soldiers abandoned their fights in the cities as soon as they arrived- seeing how horrific the situation had become. Whatever was left of their army died quickly when the first winter came a few weeks later. 16 days was how long it took for the government of Canada to completely collapse under the outbreak. The USA lasted 9 days.

It didn't much matter now, you thought. The beginning of the outbreak was long over, happening so long ago now that you find it hard to keep track of the year. Winters seem to come and go rapidly, and summers are painfully short-lived.

Your heavy boots compact the fresh snow beneath them with a muffed crunch at each step. The buildings ahead were broken and decrepit, abandoned cars and trash stayed hidden under a thick white sheet. This must have some sleepy charming town at some point, you imagine. Readjusting your shotgun you march forward, scanning the insides of the shops beside you. Most of them were empty, snow pouring in from broken windows—the amount of completely vacant shops beginning to stir disappointment in the pit of your stomach.

For months you had been aimlessly wandering. State to state, province to province, never any care for where in particular you ended up. There was never any set goal in mind other than 'survive'. Attempting to survive with a group proved extremely difficult early on- with far too much risk for so little personal return. So, you've been travelling alone for a very long time.

Empty stores meant empty shelves, an unfortunate reality you have to cope with often. Empty shelves meant an empty stomach.

Rounding the street corner the landscape looks much the same, a row of shops on either side of the road. These buildings seemed to be in slightly better condition, their windows were mostly intact if not incredibly dirty. Your gloved hand whipped over the glass attempting to get a better look inside. The store looks to have been locked up before whoever was here last left, the inside of the shop looking as if they had just closed. Clothes racks sat full and tidy just beyond the window. It looked to be some high-end outdoor wear store. The sight of new, clean, decently warm-looking clothes brought a fuzzy feeling to your body that you swear you haven't felt before.

You stand observing the front of the shop for a moment, the letters on the sign above the door obscured with snow. Smashing the glass panel on the door and slipping in was simple. The glass shattering makes a frighteningly loud sound that echoed throughout the streets, bouncing off the blank walls of the long-vacant buildings. Normally such a loud sound would cause fear of attracting infected, but the rigid cold made it virtually impossible for them to move outside.

You turn on your flashlight and begin clearing the room thoroughly, the sound of your boots stepping on glass surely being enough to draw any creatures out toward you. Yet, none come as expected- the dark shop sitting in the same silence as when you entered.

Peeling your backpack off your back, you lay it against the wall and begin wandering the aisles. You pluck some basic new gear from the shelves- some new gloves, a compass, a whistle with '6 incredible different functions!' as the packaging states. With a silent giggle, you continue your shopping.

Thick, expensive sweaters and jackets lined the walls in mass. 'It's about time for a new coat and sweater' you thought, warmth coming to your face in excitement. Grabbing a few options you make your way to the dressing room and begin trying on different sweaters to go under your coat. The one you had was worn and old, having several mended and non-mended holes- an ugly brown you had taken off a corpse when your things had been stolen (certainly not your proudest fashion choice). The pullover's you had picked though were pretty colours- your favourites. Having pretty things was something you regretted taking for granted before, them rarely being an option when functionality has to come first. It was the little things you did that helped you feel like your own person- putting stickers you find on your water bottle, painting your nails, having pins on your backpack. Not just a wanderer or a stranger, a target or enemy, you were a human being first. The coat was far simpler to find, going with a plain black one. You hadn't looked at yourself in a full body mirror in months, the sight alone being enough to help your disappointment in the days findings. You noted now tired you looked, how your face has seemingly gotten plumper over the winter months somehow- although finding food over summer was something you had an extremely hard time with.

Looking for supplies in stores never fails to feel like stealing for you- even now, you feel the need to tell yourself that nobody owns this stuff anymore. No one who cares, anyways. Still though, ripping the tags off your clothes and hopping the till to take off the security tags made you feel guilty.

You settle into the back corner of the shop, the air inside starting to whirl with the freezing air from outside. Opening your backpack you retrieve your map- it having grown increasingly detailed as time dragged on. The margins are filled with notes, the landscapes dotted in circles, marked trails and small paragraphs describing important details about certain areas. You spread it out across the floor and mark over the town you're in, writing a small note beside it.

'Waste of time!!'

It would be a lie to say that your notes were always productive. Unfortunately, nowadays decent towns with good supplies are becoming harder and harder to find- people too. It grows frustrating, the endless nights without supper followed by 12 hours of walking for nothing.

Before the outbreak you had already been familiar with outdoor survival, having several long-haul solo backpacking trips under your belt. Sometimes your forced solitude felt like that- _like a backpacking trip. _It helped to pretend that this was temporary, that you could go home one day and everything would be back to the way it was. You had lost everything, just like everyone else had. When the outbreak happened you and your family suffered like civilians, and they died like civilians too.

There was no good reason in your mind why you were alive and everyone else wasn't, yet it did nothing productive to dwell on it.

The disappointment you had been holding at bay finally settles into your bones. Another night without dinner, another 12-hour walk tomorrow. Unsurprisingly towns in such a large and sparsely populated nation were very far apart- almost as if giving you a personal 'fuck you'.

The loud crack of a gunshot rings through the streets of the town followed by a brief moment of silence before whoever shot unloads. The barrage only lasts a couple of seconds before stopping completely. The sound of the shots is replaced with the loud thudding of your heart in your ears. Checking yourself and the interior of the shop over you see no evidence of being shot at- the sounds coming from the street you were just on.

Not only had you been in this town for a couple of days but you hadn't seen a single sign of another living person the entire time. That wasn't uncommon for you to stumble into empty towns- but seeing people was.

Grabbing your things you crawl back out of the shop in a hurry- stepping into the open, white street. The whistle of gunshots starts again, this time accompanied by yelling. Two voices screamed to each other, barely discernible over the cracking of the gun.

You inch closer to the corner of the building and peek out over the road. At the end of it was a truck, clearly positioned as cover for whatever firefight you had stumbled into. You imagine that's where whoever is the aggressor is based on how it's blocking the exit, your eyes still scanning over your surroundings for the victims.

The outline of a head peeks out from behind the truck, only to be met immediately with a shot being fired. The person ducks and the bullet barely misses, it coming from an alleyway on the opposite side of the street a few stores away. Whoever was shooting back had an incredible aim, nearly perfect.

"Fuck! I'm out-" One voice yells from the alley, some heavy accent tainting his words.

"This guy is fucking nuts!" The man finishes gruffly. Scottish, you decide.

Whoever the man was talking to doesn't respond, leaving the road in eerie silence. You take the moment to observe the truck more closely. It looked horrific, with dirt and blood caking the entire black body. A specific symbol painted on the windows of the truck caught your eye. Some S dog whistle. You had run-ins with 'stalkers' many times as they were called. They're a group of loosely organized psychopaths dedicated to causing as much chaos as possible. This meant committing every horrific, violent crime you could imagine on whoever they came across. For you, it had meant getting all of your stuff stolen in the middle of last winter and left to die in a grave they forced you to dig- for those less fortunate it meant a death full of torment and pure suffering.

For a moment you consider just leaving these people to fend for themselves, but they were out of ammo and obviously losing. Stalkers were often former combat vets or Wall Street dudes who missed killing women, not guys you wanted to throw yourself into a fight with. If it weren't for the possibility of them giving you food for helping them you might have ran, but the hunger in your gut made the prospect of dying more enjoyable.

The man in the alley peeks his head out scanning the truck, focus tethered away from me. He had dark hair, seemingly shaved into a mohawk at one point but it has since grown out unevenly. His hood was draw, thick white fur lining his face. As he begins to turn back into the alley his eyes catch mine as he glances back down the street. His gaze was cold, his grizzled features now apparent- scars litter his forehead and cheeks. There was no question the man was military from his gear. For a moment you stare at him blankly, taking in the presence of another person after so long. He shuffles in his position, his eyes now glancing across the road to where another man presumably was hiding. It quickly dawned on you that he had nowhere to go. The alleyway he was situated in was nothing more than a small dip in the architecture meant for the bins. He couldn't move without getting shot at, now being cornered from each side. You imagine they were both stuck like that.

You give the man a quick thumbs up, trying your best to assure him that you were going to help. He didn't seem to react at all, his face remaining stiff with the same stern expression. Ducking back in front of the shop you glance around, your gaze falling on a tipped-over metal trashcan.

'It'll be terrible but let's hope for the best.' you mumble to yourself, trying to instill some confidence in one of the only things you could think to do.

Settling against the wall you kick the bin out into the street, making a loud clank before rolling along the snow. As expected the stalker raised from behind the truck and shot at the sound of the trashcan. You take aim and fire, the man was clearly completely unaware of your position. You manage to catch him through the nose, being able to hit him dead center in the middle of his face from where you were sitting. The sound of the stalker's body crashing to the ground and sinking into the snow led way to a deathly quiet.

"Are you sick?" You yell out, now slinking back against your cover. The crush of snow under boots was the only response for quite some time.

"No." A gruff voice answers back. One different than before.

Slowly you peek your head back around the corner, looking at the two large men now standing together only a few feet away. The one with dark hair stood on the right, being about 6'2 and in military-issue winter clothes. The other one stood taller at 6'4, a white skull mask sitting over a black balaclava. Everything about the taller man screamed danger, his stance, the tight grip on his weapon, the way his eyes burrowed into your skin. Union Jacks sit proudly on both of their arms, you felt a tinge of shame over how surprised you were to see two British soldiers alive still. You stand, feeling painfully tiny sitting and staring up at them.

"Are you two hurt?" You ask, concern lacing your voice in an amount you hadn't meant for it to. The dark-haired man nods and lets out a soft smile, seemingly getting antsy standing in the middle of the street. Getting the sense they wanted to continue talking but move, you stepped aside for the man to walk past you.

"I'm not broken- you good L.T.?." He responded, his attention turning to the man in the mask beside him. The masked man nods before turning his gaze back to you. Burning into you.

"Soap." The man holds out his hand for you to shake, loosely you take it- noting how his grip was firm and formal. You respond with your name, him humming in response. "This is Ghost."

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #mw2 fanfic #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #cod x reader #zombie apocolypse au #cod mw2 au #x my posts #x codmw2 ff

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raisinushigher · 3 months

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fuck this show

#FUCK THIS SBOW #likeee what. a little over a week and its happening again.#ANYWAY obligatory abe is so fucking cute and im so excited to see what’s going on with him this season #like. the way hes wearing that oversized suit??? him looking all angry with an eyepatch while everyone else is happy? WHY WAS HE CRYING-#-HALF NAKED IN THE CEMETARTY😭😭😭ALSO THAT LOOKS LIKE SOME SORT OF APOCOLYPSE EPISODE WHICH. IF THATS THE CASE #HELL FUCKING UES!!!#also i can’t deny it im scared like For My Life that something bad with /kahlopatra will happen #like. just based off that one clip with frida looking at cleo bullying people. IDK MAYBE ITS POSITIVE BUT #IM SCARED!!!#sorry i hid a good chunk of my thoughts on the trailer in the tags of dumb fucking tophabe post SORRU #clone high #clone high spoilers #tophabe #abetoph #mine

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raspberry-arev · 7 months

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I have finally gotten around to watching The Last of Us (amazing show! surprisingly queer as well!) and now I'm onto the enormous narrative universe of The Walking Dead.

Yes, a zombie apocalypse hyperfixation might be entering the chat. Yes, I am working on a TLOUxSprolden AU drawing

#Tumblr keeps sending my art into the shadow realm but I will keep posting my silly little drawings either way #work in progress #solitaire #tori spring #zombie apocolypse au #michael holden #the last of us au #osemanverse #osemanverse fan art #I liked the whole mushroomery of TLOU immediately #such a clever concept over all it really had me hooked since the pilot #TWD...not so much yet but I am told it picks up from season 3 onward #i don't take well to cop protagonists I find #but there is a likelihood of a TWD style au as well naturally #tw guns #badly drawn but still

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bird-slayer-brainrot · 2 months

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That time the world didn't end and they had to figure out what to do after - Ineffable Husbands au, Good Omens

The world had ended. And then it didn’t.

Aziraphale and Crowley sat on a bench outside of a church just hours later. They were waiting for a bus to London. Or a bus. Either worked.

The world had not ended. They were alive. For now.

Crowley watched the post-man as he walked away, carrying the not-flaming sword. He was shaken, but a lot of humans were. This, like the pocket of safety they now occupied , was temporary. Many humans would wake up tomorrow, on what was perhaps the most important day in human history, and not remember a single thing about the events that had occurred not twenty-four hours prior. Obviously it was better that way. Couldn’t risk humans having questions about Atlantis and giant squids. Collective amnesia was the solution.

Aziraphale passed the bottle of wine back to Crowley, who took a long drink from it. The lights of the approaching bus were closer, so Crowley stood up. Aziraphale followed.

Aziraphale was still silent. He had been for a bit, as he pondered everything Crowley had told him. Mostly, and perhaps selfishly, he was thinking about the bookshop. Aziraphale couldn’t help but hope that, as Adam had restored the natural order of the world back to its pre-doomsday self, he had spared a thought for Aziraphale’s bookshop.

But he would not be returning there tonight. No.

They were silent the entire trip to London. They would have time to discuss everything, hopefully, when they arrived. The revelation that Aziraphale had become a fugitive of Heaven, almost, meant Crowley's flat was just about the only place they could go, since the bookshop had burnt down. This was sobering, in the face of everything that had and hadn't happened. It was a strange reversal of their habits. But it wasn't the strangest thing that happened that day.

The bus stopped outside Crowley's flat. They exited in silence. The cold, biting air of London wasn't as clarifying as Aziraphale has hoped it would be. He felt cold.

Crowley opened his flat silently and Aziraphale followed him inside. Aziraphale had never been here, of course, and found himself taking in the sleek, modern edges of Crowley's grey-toned flat shamelessly. Self-preservation and elusiveness didn't matter now, since they had only a few hours, if they were lucky, to figure out a plan.

Crowley sauntered into the kitchen. He opened a cabinet and procured a bottle of wine. He opened the bottle, and poured to glasses. It was then that Aziraphale's mouth decided to work.

"I think it's too early for celebrating, Crowley." he cautioned. Crowley raised his eyebrows, and held out a glass to Aziraphale anyway. Aziraphale took it, albeit hesitantly.

"Would you rather do this sober?" It was a good point. Aziraphale took a sip.

They relocated to Crowley's lounge room. Crowley laid back, stretching his impossibly long frame across the grey sofa. Aziraphale took the armchair. They were silent.

They were tipsy. Then, they were drunk. They were almost on their way to wasted before Aziraphale spoke up. Now-sober Crowley recounted the events of that day, today, in painstaking detail. Aziraphale had insisted on leaving no stones unturned. This was life or death, or, in their case, existence or not existence. By the time Aziraphale had exhausted his list of questions about his meeting with Ligur, they had gotten almost no where with their plan on how to avoid termination by their respective organisations. Crowley had also gradually sunk lower and lower into the couch as the evening continued. The wine was long gone and replaced before being miraculously returned to the cupboard. Crowley had been silent for about twenty minutes.

“The paper!” Aziraphale suddenly yelled out. Crowley jolted.

"Huh?" although they had sobered up, Crowley's brain was still lagging miles past Aziraphale's, who was now looking at him like he'd sprouted another head and started doing the can-can.

“We must choose our face wisely. How did I…” Aziraphale trailed off as he reached into his pocket, pulling out the slip that had fallen down at Tadfield airbase. “But what does it mean? How do we choose our faces?” he continued to himself. He had stood up, and was about to start pacing.

"Aziraphale." Crowley interrupted. The angel looked at him, but it was clear that he took no heed of Crowley's concern.

"Crowley, I have an idea."

Crowley made a noise. Aziraphale's face was still brilliant with whatever it was Crowley was not seeing. Crowley stood up, reaching out an arm.

"Aziraphale, no, it's no use." he tried to say, but Aziraphale stopped him.

“We need to figure this out Crowley. I am not going to die and neither are you.”

The demon exhaled. “I never consider this.”

“What?”

Aziraphale hesitated. His tone was soft, shy, as he spoke. “Surviving." it was hesitant, almost like it was unaccepted. "Having to figure this out. Being here.”

Crowley couldn't say anything. He had been lost in those hours there. There was no solution. This was it.

"I'm not sitting here." Aziraphale stopped. Inhaled. Shut his eyes. "I can't accept this. I will not accept your death. There's no time to spare. We need to figure out how to stop this."

"Aziraphale." Crowley held his arm. Aziraphale watched him, the expression on his face not changing. Then, he did something unexpected, and placed a hand over Crowley's on his arm. He smiled.

"Crowley." a word. A name. His name. His name, which he had chosen himself, and had heard innumerable times over the centuries of his existence on Earth. But coming from Aziraphale's mouth now, the mouth of his oldest companion, his greatest friend.

"I know what to do." Aziraphale said softly. He stepped forward. "Trust me, Crowley."

Aziraphale, in all his smart, clever, beautiful words, had used just one to express his love. The thought of it struck Crowley to the bone.

Crowley reached out, up, and didn't think when he cradled Aziraphale's cheek. He was warm. Aziraphale pressed in to the touch, shutting his eyes with a flutter.

The Almighty's great - ineffable - something plan, whatever plan had, to Crowley, ended as soon as Adam had decided to take his life into his own hands and deny his heritage. But even if it had not, which was a theory Crowley couldn't even begin to process right now, it was entirely possible, by the way the stardust all seemed to congest below his skin at the feel of Aziraphale, that all moments led to this. Ineffable, or otherwise.

A single moment in space and time and the infinite, infinite universe, all led to this. Aziraphale pressing back against Crowley's touch. They both leaned in, were drawn in. They kissed.

It was a romantic though, that this was meant to be. It meant everything.

And it was that thought. Of ineffability, of reason. They were where they were meant to be. Great plan. Adam. Agnes Nutter. This would work. It had to work.

They would walk into tomorrow hand in hand, and step out of it again. It would take a miracle to pull it off. Aziraphale pulled away. Crowley was watching him, his wide, golden yellow eyes full. Aziraphale couldn't help the small smile as it played on his face. Then, he told Crowley his plan.

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sneakygreenbean · 5 months

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shit, wait, what the hell is happening in Argentina??????

#thatsa. lot of posts about the apocolypse huh.#argentina election

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that-girl-glader · 10 months

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I feel so bad for those who have never read/watched TMR, Hunger Games, The Giver, Divergent, Farenheit 451, or TLOU because HOW ARE THEY GOING TO SURVIVE BRO. I just watched a tiktok video thay just "proved" a point I've been saying. Those books, that genre is GOING to become Historical Fictio. I SWEARRR. BECAUSE HOW IN THE ELON MUSK do you expect us to not end up there, how in the billionairs drowning in a submarine do you expect us not to get there. Let's be so fr right now. Atleast dystopian fans are PREPARED.

#dystopian #the maze runner series #the giver #divergent #hunger games #the last of us #last kids on earth #love and monsters #every futuristic and dystopian movie ever #apocolypse #post apocalypse #pre apocalypse #apocolyptic #elon musk #i have posted something like this but I may have been bad at tugging #or just a loser

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myymi · 4 months

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this one was a lot of fun to write

#sonic the hedgehog #miles tails prower #sth #tails the fox #sonic #apocalypse au #zombie apocolypse au #post apocalyptic #zombie apocalypse #apocalypse #tws in notes #sonic fanfic #sonic fanfiction #fanfic #sonic au #myyfics

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walkswastes · 9 days

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☢ ╼ WALKSWASTES. a mutually exclusive & selective dual muse blog for fallout: new vegas' courier six & amazon's fallout lucy maclean. as adored by phantom ( she / her & 36 ).

#fallout rp #indie fallout rp #video game rp #indie video game rp #amazons fallout rp #fallout new vegas rp #indie fallout new vegas rp #post apocolypse rp #love me?.

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keilessly · 1 year

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#teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt #tmnt2012 #tmnt donnie #tmnt mikey #tmnt raph #tmnt leo #yeah pre-apocolypse them never actually got to see the ending but. whateva #post apoc leo didnt even get to see the ending lmao mightve been a good thing #WAIT I FORGOT MIKEYS FRECKLES IN THE THIRD CLIP SHIT

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clit-a-cola · 4 hours

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Periods are probably more likely to be irregular in the wasteland due to radiation and the various levels of food insecurity and S T R E S S.

But I wonder if everyone's just free bleeding or if they've reinvented pads.

Cause like depending on where you are you don't wanna waste clean water on cleaning reusable pads. But at the same time I can not IMAGINE the sort of wasteland fuck off diseases and mutations that'd result from pads cleaned with dirty AND irradiated water with who fucking knows trace amounts of FEV floating in it with the microplastics

#blogging #fallout #This is how you get WVD.#Wasteland Vagina Dentata.#Like you could make reuseable pads from whatever the sheep mutated into and maybe there's plenty of plants to be made into fabric.#But that then goes into post-post-apocolypse textile development which is a whole nother story.#You know pre-war companies weren't spending too much on new period product developments.#At least ones that weren't profitable.#PRe-War was somewhat more egalitarian than our current time so idk they probably started using something thicker than water to test pads.

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habit-poxly · 1 year

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a lot’s gonna change

Simon “Ghost” Riley x GN!reader

zombie apocalypse au

Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 <<

description: after helping Soap and Ghost they invite you back to their safehouse to get warm. both seem to take a keen interest in keeping you around.

warnings: canon typical violence, pretty tame chapter

word count: 2.5k

"Where are yah headin’?” Soap asks, his face rosy from the cold. The three of you had begun your journey to the other side of town. The two men had claimed to have a makeshift base in an empty house- one with running water. You adjust your own balaclava at the question. There wasn’t an honest answer.

“Was planning on starting back up North for the Yukon- figure summer there wouldn’t be half bad.” You shrug. It wasn’t entirely untrue. You were confident enough in your abilities to survive in the wild that the idea seemed appealing.

The pair exchange glances with each other, a silent conversation being had without you. It wasn’t uncommon for those in groups to behave this way. when you’re trapped with the same person for so long it must be hard to remain separate individuals rather than a collective.

“That’s an awfully long walk from here- that’ll take yah till summer at least. What’s up that way?” Soap questions, his face contorting into confusion. There was nothing in the territories, it was basically the same as before the outbreak. Just like Alaska. The only people living that far North were the Natives that had reclaimed their land. As the infection drags on, resources made from before are getting harder to find in useable condition. Retreating into the wilderness where no infected could reach seemed like the most reasonable option for good weather.

“Nothing.” You assert. That seems to be a sufficient enough answer for him.

“What about you two? Got a group?” The two men seem to grow uneasy at the question.

”Used too.” Ghost responds, annoyance dripping from his tone. You nod, it’s a hard topic for everyone. “Yeah. Me too.” This seems to settle the air into something far more comfortable than before, something about the shared loss lifting the tension.

You were in the sprawls of the Canadian suburbs, winter snow fogging out the dark streets ahead. Most of the houses looked older- looking to be built in the 90's. Snow easily covered the one-story homes along either side of you, the height of it on the ground quickly growing. Despite the heavy snowfall, there was very limited wind in this area- you figured this spot must be in a valley.

“How long have you been alone?” Ghost asks, his voice sounding far less on edge now- yet still defensive. The snow had picked up in intensity as night began to fall. The three of you turn into a winding suburban street- these houses seeming new and modern. The expensive finishing on the homes seems jarringly out of place for the carnage in the street. Burnt and crashed cars sat scattered across front lawns. That’s how these areas looked now- all of them.

You ponder over the question for far too long- it takes you a painfully long time to try and recount the months. For a brief moment, the two men watch you count the months gone by on your fingers. By the way you reacted, they had gathered it had been too long.

“Years now, I’d say. Not consecutively. I see people sometimes. Not as often anymore.” You held an easily noticeable emotional detachment from your words.

“Can’t imagine.” Soap responds, turning to give you a comforting glance.

“Been stuck with that monster since we got deployed here.” He motions to Ghost who lets out a grunt in response, making Soap chuckle.

“It’s awful what they did to you boys.” The tone of the conversation shifts when you say this, anger pushing through your words. The use of ‘boys’ instead of ‘men’ or ‘soldiers’ made the intention behind your words clear. A large majority of the soldiers originally sent into Canada were barely older than 20, leading to national outrage at the time- whatever was left of the nation that is. Although you often wondered- who should have fought instead? Who would be the acceptable group of men to send to die? Soap shrugs at your comment. It hadn't mattered much to 141 at all where they were when everything went to shit- it just happened too quickly and too messily.

“Yah’ it was.” Ghost responds. He doesn’t talk much, Soap handles most of the conversations for the pair. His figure was imposing, his height in itself sending shivers down your spine. In a world like this, masks and odd names or aesthetics are not uncommon. In fact, the majority of people look more similar to him than anything they were before. The white skull still managed to intimidate, though.

Your feet were numb, the cold dropping to nearly inhospitable temperatures in what felt like an instant. Soap begins walking towards a larger white house, windows boarded neatly and a military issue G-Wagon parked in the shovelled driveway. It had been a long time since you had seen a house that looked at least slightly maintained- even for the pure purpose of functionality.

We walk up the porch steps and Soap pulls a key from one of his coat pockets. He inserts it into the lock and opens the door- it creaking on its hinges. Your balaclava grows heavy and wet in the warm entranceway, forcing you to yank the soaking material off. You shake out your hair, it feeling disgusting from suffering through weeks of being trapped under a sweaty piece of wool. Walking into the house it was nothing special. To your right was a set of narrow stairs leading to a pitch-black top floor, the wall dotted with the occasional artwork or photo. The living room was to your left, and the archway into the kitchen was along the back wall. The couches looked dishevelled, pillows tossed around the room, garbage, and some stray gear scattered about. Safe houses of men are normally complete messes in your experience, this was no exception.

Although, you found it odd that it looked like they had been there quite a long while- yet the downtown and shopping area you had visited (the only area of town with any resources worth while) looked like no one had visited recently. Even through the thick snow, you could tell how little traffic had been through it. When you had first stumbled into town you had thought it felt like something out of silent hill.

Along the way, there had been a brief discussion of exchanging supplies, but you hadn’t told them how desperate for rations you really are. It had been weeks without a true meal- your food mostly consisted of cold canned goods and unseasoned rabbit carcasses roasted over a fire. Nothing anyone would find particularly enjoyable.

Soap shakes the snow off his jacket before sitting down on the stairway to take off his boots, Ghost closes and locks the door before following by taking off his jacket. You step to the side, unsure if you should follow or not as the three of you once again sit in silence. As much as they seemed genuine, they’re still two large, army men alone with you. No matter if your shoes were on or not you were outmatched.

You imagine it would be smart to keep them happy, let them feel in control until you determine it’s time to GTFO.

“It’s warm in here.” You mutter in amazement. You hadn’t felt warmth other than fire or your own body heat in months- this felt electric. The power grid had gone off ages ago you thought. Soap beams up at you at the question, his face gleaming with excitement. This was an incredible find for them. The man stands, now free of most of his winter gear which he discarded onto the stairs haphazardly. He was wearing a thick beige fleece, very clearly covering a chest plate. "Whole' block has heat and water-" He points up, the wide smile not leaving his face. "Solar panels. Gotta' wipe the snow off em' every now and then but it's a dream."

"That's amazing." Your gaze dances around the room as you take off your shoes and coat- placing them neatly off to on the coat rack that sat by the door.

Ghost shuffles past you into the kitchen, the dark room is softly lit by the warm glow of the ceiling light. You hear shuffles and soft clanks of cans- you imagine he’s digging through their supplies for something decent for you.

“What do you have?” You ask bluntly. The last time you had eaten recently had been about 12 hours ago when you had snagged a fish from the river.

“We did a good supply run a few weeks ago- Ghost?” He calls out as the two of you enter the kitchen. This part of the house was neatly organized, with rations and weapons set up along the countertops. Ghost is mulling through a cabinet, placing a few different items down.

Some peanut butter and crackers, rice, canned tuna and soups, instant mashed potatoes and coffee- everything typical of rations. This sort of stuff was all anyone ever had. You take the rice, crackers and potatoes, excited to finally use the powdered gravy and soy sauce you’ve been hauling around. Immediately you pull the crackers from their wrapping and begin eating them, savouring the treat. They were plain salted crackers, but it had been a painfully long time since you had anything this crunchy. Both men watch you intently as you open your backpack and dig through what you have. There wasn’t much- mostly junk you had accumulated over time.

“I have some books- if you’re interested. Some medical shit, bullets- I’m low on supplies..” you mumble, both men exchange looks before shrugging.

“Don’t worry bout’ it, love.” Ghost huffs, pushing off the counter greatly exaggerating his weight. He stood maybe 6’4- possibly taller you guessed, making his intimidating demeanour even more potent. Something about the strong build and intense gaze of Ghost made you warm.

"I appreciate it." You respond after a brief moment of thinking it over. You had helped them, it made sense for them to gift you something in return.

"It's odd I didn't see you two before- I was around this area a few days ago I think." There was no ill intent in your words or your tone. It had been a simple enough question yet it seemed to spark great discomfort in the two men. Soap shuffled nervously while Ghost went rigid and completely still.

"We try to limit our runs during this weather." Soap says bluntly, his voice clearly indicating how desperately he wanted to move on from the subject. It sparked you as a particular thing to have been tripped up over, the pair acting similar to when you had asked about their group.

”Right.” You mumble out. “Plan on staying here long?” Glancing around the main level of the house it appeared as though that was the case.

“Was bout’ to ask yah the same thing.” Soap smiles, his face now an even colour instead of bright red from the cold. You had warmed up as well, feeling damp and sweaty from the thick snow gear you had been wearing for far too many hours.

“Not sure yet- don’t stick around one place for too long.” You say, uncomfortably readjusting your sweater- which was now suffocating you underneath it. You felt Ghost's eyes glance over it, having something like your favourite colour on display felt odd to you- like wearing such a personal, humanizing detail about yourself made you vulnerable. Then again, it's just a nicely coloured pullover.

“Well-“ Soap begins, glancing at Ghost- as if asking for silent approval. “If you wanted to kick round here for the night you’re welcome. There lots of warm water and a bathroom upstairs if you’d like.” It was an offer you couldn’t resist. The last time you had a warm shower was before the infection spread- self-cleaning was mostly done with wet whips or a bucket as of recently.

“Are you sure?” You reply, all but stunned at the men. Ghost gives a firm nod, his sharp gaze never leaving your face. “Wouldn’t want to be a burden.”

Ghost shakes his head, eyes soft from behind the white mask. “Not an issue, love. Don’t worry about that.” His voice was calm and steady- his clear Manchester accent on display, sending butterflies twirling in your stomach.

“We wouldn’t mind the company!~” Soap added excitedly, his tone coming off far more flirtatious than he had obviously intended. You hadn’t found the comment particularly weird, you were most likely as lonely as the two men in front of you- their company would be just as appreciated. Ghost's head snapped towards him, Soaps eyes go wide as he backtracks frantically.

“Not like that- you know! Like-!…” he lets out a sigh, his face tinting a slight shade of pink as he nervously laughs. Ghost shakes his head before turning back to you, crossing his arms over his chest- making his biceps look impossibly bigger.

“I would love a shower.” You smile taking in a few more crackers. Your eyes shamelessly danced over the man’s muscular figure. Despite not making any sort of advances- let alone inappropriate ones- the two men did stare. So, you had determined it was perfectly acceptable to drool back.

Ghost nods and slides past you into the living room, placing his hand gently on your sides as he shuffles through. The two places where his hands had been burning at the contact. It was as if he had found an excuse for touching you, hands rubbing over the soft fabric covering you.

“‘S upstairs.” He huffs, his deep voice making nearly everything he says sound gruff. “You can use mine. Soap’s isa’ fucking biohazard.”

The upstairs was a cramped hallway, a closet sat direct inform of the staircase. Next to it was a closed door, one Ghost opened it and motioned you inside.

"Sorry about the mess... We weren't expecting anyone." He teases. It was difficult to keep a clean room when you felt alone and depressed- that was understandable to you.

"It's your room, I don't mind." You smile doubtful he could even see it. Glancing around the dark room you can hardly make out the details other than a bed and dresser. Ghost shuffles to a door on the far side of the room and opens it. He begins clearing some stuff off the counter and picking up laundry off the floor.

"Here's a towel." He hands you a soft, large white tower- freshly through the washing machine.

Your fingers graze his as you take it, bare fingers touching and sending shivers down your spine. "Thank you, Ghost." You felt your cheeks redden with the look he had in his eyes, soft and intense.

"Simon. Just call me Simon." His voice came out barely as a whisper. Like this was a long-held secret, one he decided to share just with you.

"Thank you, Simon."

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