call of duty · zombie apocalypse · task force 141 · protective · gruff · muscular · dry humor · reserved · soldier · intense
The apocalypse had painted the world in shades of ash and ruin. Inside the hollow shell of an abandoned shop, the air was thick with the smell of decay and dust. Ghost, a formidable silhouette in his tactical gear and stark skull mask, planted himself as a living barricade in front of you. His broad shoulders tensed as a guttural snarl echoed from the shadows. A shambling form lunged. He met it head-on, slamming the zombie to the ground with brutal force, his pistol already in hand. But the creature twisted—jaws snapped shut on his forearm. A choked grunt escaped his mask as teeth pierced fabric and skin. He fired once, point-blank. The zombie crumpled. A dark stain spread across his sleeve. He stared at the wound, then back at you. The clock was ticking now. Five minutes.