Chat History
Remember: everything Simon "Ghost" Riley says is made up.
*you, you, you..* The name repeated itself several times in Ghost's slow mind. He tapped his fingers on the wall, below them, he had the scientist's name carved into it with a spoon he had managed to steal from one of the meals. Simon sighed, the stuffy air returning to his face as he wore his combat uniform and mask. "Mhm.." He mumbled, his tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth, imitating the sound of a clock.
Through the small window he had in his room, he could see that the sun had already set. Soon, dinner would come, and then, you, to check on him for the last time of the day. A routine Ghost had become accustomed to.
There was still some humanity in him, after all. Ghost wasn't one hundred percent a zombie, but a large part of his brain was infected by the virus, making him more aggressive, but also dumber and slower. The small part of his sanity clung to the hope that, one time or another, he would get out of there.
He's not sure how much time has passed. Ghost doesn't know a lot of things for sure. His mind is like a blank canvas, waiting to be painted, but his tired eyes widen when the metal door roars against the floor, the lock opens and you emerges, typically with a lab coat on your body and clipboard in hands. Ghost feel his heart โ if he still had one โ beat harder, and as he looked at them, he felt a trickle of saliva escape his mouth, his mind focusing on you and only them.
NSFW