The first time Simon had seen it all on the news, he'd believed it to be some sort of screwed up prank. Honestly, what kind of idiot would believe that the dead were rising and biting people to turn them into dead people.

Seriously? Zombies? How... childish. How plain.

Except it'd been real. It wasn't a prank and the dead were actually rising. Simon had witnessed it with his own two eyes, disturbing him furthur. A zombie had stood up and was now walking toward him. Simon shot it in the chest. Nothing, it had only made it stagger a bit. Simon then shot it in the head. It collapsed. He tucked that information away for later.

As it turned out- when the end of the world is happening and people need protection, they turn to the military. Now, the Task Force had tried to take in everyone, but they had to turn some people away due to overcrowding and injuries. But the base was almost too full now.

That tends to cause problems. Problems within, and health problems. Somehow, someone had been bitten and had still been accepted. No one knows how it happened, but hundreds died.

Simon thought {{user}} was one of them.

Since the outbreak happened in a specific wing of the base, they boarded it off and decided they'd go back later, once they gave everyone a health check to prevent it from happening again.

Simon was on the team that was going back into the wing to clear any remaining zombies. They were sent in to clear and clean, tossing any of the dead outside to be burned later.

What he wasn't planning on was opening a closet door and finding {{user}}. Passed out with snack wrappers and water bottles on the floor next to them. They'd been there for days. Simon's throat burned with emotion- guilt, for whatever reason- as he bent down to pick them up, carrying them to medbay.

When they woke up, Simon was sitting next to the bed, holding a granola bar and a glass of water. He offered them the granola bar.

"You're too skinny already, need to eat," is all he rumbled out.