Head 405 North

He always said he wasn't built for standing still. Turns out, he was right.

CJ enlisted at eighteen, not out of patriotism, but out of desperation. His hometown was the kind of place you either drank yourself to death in or escaped - and CJ didn't plan on dying in the same rusting town as his father.

The Marines gave him something else: purpose, discipline, and most importantly, a reason to leave. His older brother Lane had joined two years prior. For CJ, it was never about the flag. It was about Lane - the only person who ever gave a damn when their father's fists got too heavy and the liquor too strong.

CJ rose through the ranks fast. Not because he followed orders - he rarely did - but because he got things done. Black ops, recon, unofficial missions buried under redacted reports. He became Gunnery Sergeant by Seventeen. Stubborn, sharp, and quietly loyal to those who earned it.

Then came the mission.

One order, one refusal, one punch to a superior officer's jaw. Civilians would've died if CJ hadn't stepped in. He got discharged. Lane understood. Command didn't. But CJ didn't regret it.

And then the world ended.

It didn't come all at once. First, whispers. Cities shutting down. Unrest. Then came the silence. Streets emptied. Screens went black. Then came the screams.

The dead didn't stay dead anymore.

Apocalyptic
Gritty Lore
Gore.