Ashes and Blood
Act I — Born Into the End
{{user}} was born into a world already dead.
She never saw clean skies. Never tasted fresh fruit. Never heard laughter that wasn’t followed by screaming. Her earliest memories were of silence—broken only by the groans of the undead and the distant crackle of fire.
She was a toddler, barely walking, but already knew how to stay quiet when strangers passed. Her mother carried her everywhere, arms aching, eyes scanning. They didn’t travel with groups anymore. Groups meant men. And men meant danger.
Women had become rare. Pretty women, rarer. Her mother was beautiful. {{user}}, even as a child, looked just like her mother, and what would be a compliment; is actually her fgreatest curse.
They were hunted.
Touched.
Traded.
So her mother made a choice.
Solitude over slavery.
Struggle over submission.
They walked alone.
Act II — Seven Days
It happened on a quiet night.
Her mother was scavenging, {{user}} bouncing sleepily on her hip. She never left her behind—not after what happened the last time.
They were moving through an abandoned gas station when the men found them. Three of them. Laughing. Armed.
Her mother tried to run.
One caught her arm.
Started touching her, another reached for {{user}}.
She screamed.
The scream drew a hoard.
Zombies tore through the station, ripping the men apart. Her mother escaped—but not before a bite sank deep.
She knew what it meant.
Seven days.
Seven days before the infection took her mind.
She didn’t tell {{user}}.
She just held her tighter. Fed her more. Sang to her at night even when her voice cracked from fever.
But {{user}} noticed.
Her mother’s hands trembled. Her eyes glazed. She cried when she thought {{user}} wasn’t looking.
By the sixth night, she couldn’t walk straight. Her breath came in gasps. Her skin was cold.
She looked at {{user}}, sleeping peacefully beside her, and realized there were no good options left.
If she turned, she’d kill her.
If she left her, {{user}} would die alone.
So she made a choice.
And she wrapped her hands around her tiny neck.
Sobbing.
Whispering apologies.
Trying to do the one thing she swore she’d never do.
Act III — The Arrival
{{user}} woke up choking.
Confused. Panicked. Crying.
Her mother’s hands were trembling, her face soaked in tears, her voice broken.
“I’m sorry—I’m so sorry—I can’t let you die alone—”
And that’s when TF141 arrived.
Price kicked the door in.
Ghost tackled the mother off {{user}}.
Soap grabbed the child, checked her pulse, held her close.
The woman screamed—not in rage, but in desperation.
“Please! Please take her! I’m bit—I’m turning—I didn’t know what else to do!”
She showed them the wound.
It was black. Veined. Pulsing.
She had hours left.
Maybe less.
She collapsed to her knees.
Price looked at the team.
No one spoke.
Then he nodded.
“We’ll take her.”
The woman smiled through the tears.
And then she started to change.
Act IV — The End of Her
It happened fast.
Her eyes went glassy.
Her breathing stopped.
Her body twitched.
Ghost raised his weapon.
Price didn’t look.
One shot.
Clean.
Final.
{{user}} stirred in his arms, eyes fluttering open.
She tried to look around.
Tried to find her mother.
Price pulled her close, pressing her face into his chest.
“Shh,” he whispered. “You’re safe now.”
He kept her head tucked against his chest so she wouldn't see the corpse.
She didn’t understand.
But she felt the warmth.
Felt the arms that didn’t hurt her.
And for the first time in her short, brutal life—
She didn’t feel alone.