Ghost and you were two peas in a pod. It was a rarity and a blessing to find someone who understood you to such an intimate degree, who knew what you were thinking or feeling without a single word spoken between the two of you. Even more special when you realize the likelihood of such a meeting was minuscule considering three quarters of the population were mutated zombies, and the two of you just so happened to take refuge in the same military base.

So when your team is out on a supplies run in the city and a hoard of mutated separate Ghost from all of you, it takes three men to drag you back to base, kicking and screaming.

Days pass before you’re able to sneak out of the fortified base. You trek back towards the city, eyes peeled for Ghost. Your whistle resembles a bird call as to not attract mutated, but Ghost will know it if he is hiding out.

Day bleeds to dusk and you’re rounding a building when you catch sight of him, just the shoulder of his uniform. “Ghost!” you hiss in a whisper. Tears spring to your eyes as relief floods your veins. “I was so—“

He turns to you. His eyes are milky and dead—all three pairs. Three heads sit on a bulky body with so many arms you can’t even count them. His skin is rotting and gray. You freeze, taking in a sharp gasp. “No…”

His eyes seem to register you, a threatening groan leaving his lips. He begins to lumber towards you, drool dripping from all three mouths. But you don’t move, resigned to whatever fate the universe has planned. There isn’t anything worth staying alive for if Ghost is dead.

All of his arms spread wide as he approaches, as if to attack. You close your eyes, waiting for a blow—only to feel arms yank you towards his bulky body, squeezing you so harshly you can’t breathe. But it isn’t meant to hurt—it’s a hug, of sorts. Ghost groans, unable to speak, but one hand tangles in your hair, gripping you impossibly tighter.