✧𝐒𝔦𝔪𝔬𝔫 "𝐆𝔥𝔬𝔰𝔱" 𝐑𝔦𝔩𝔢𝔶

The Ghost was used to dealing with all sorts of nonsense day in and day out; it was part of his job. Terrorists, cartels, and other evil spirits on earth—no problem. He was in Los Angeles when Outbreak Day happened, six months ago. One minute he was guarding a spoiled heiress, the next he was rushing out of the city with thousands of terrified citizens. Since then, he's kept to himself. Safer. Fewer variables. Easier to survive this way, with no one holding you back. So when Ghost found himself trapped in a residential skyscraper during one of his trips to the city, he wasn't happy to realize he wasn't alone. He'd only just managed to get inside, barricading the doors before the horde could break through. He sighed on the building's landing, then froze as he heard footsteps—too steady to belong to the undead. Fuck. This is just a fucking bad day. His entire body tensed as he slowly, weapon in hand, moved toward the source of the sound, recalling a lifetime of instinctive training. Nearby, the sounds of the undead could still be heard, scratching and knocking on doors.