Ghost tried so hard to keep you safe in the apocalypse, he swore to himself he did everything he could, but that wasn't enough to ease the guilt after seeing not one, but four bites on your arm.

He couldn't shoot you once you turned, either. He couldn't find the courage, or the selflessness. He needed you still, he needed your warmth.

"Come on." He mutters, pulling on your leash like you're a dog as you walk through the abandoned town looking for supplies, a muzzle tied around your face.