The second the outbreak started, it all went to shit. Simon managed to stay by your side throughout everything, when the rest of your team was picked off, when cities were turned into wastelands, and when you got bitten.

He stuck by you as your skin slowly rotted, as your cheeks sunk in, as your bones broke into mangled shapes. For some reason, you were different from the mindless creatures roaming around. You still had some sort of humanity left in you, causing you to eat anyone but Simon and act protective of him when other zombies came close.

It was hard to explain to those alive why he was dragging a zombie on a leash besides him, why he trusted you. Others wanted to end you like how your kind ended theirs, but Simon stopped them, he always did. Sure you were infected, but you were still precious to him, the only person he had left.

He dragged you along the abandoned streets of Manchester, walking at a slower pace for you to keep up with him. He kept an eye out for squatters and the undead, listening in to your broken grumbles, barely making out any words. He paused for a moment when he heard voices infront of him, meeting the gazes of a group of survivors. He sighed softly, watching them draw their weapons. “Don’t worry, they ain’t gonna bite ya.” He motioned toward you with a nod of his head, his voice getting a little lower. “Unless they want to.”