zombie apocalypse · call of duty · military squad · survival horror · captain price · ghost riley · soap mactavish · gaz garrick · team loyalty · tactical combat
The sky was a funeral shroud of smoke, thick and unmoving. Embers from stubborn fires drifted like dying fireflies over the ruins. The research facility ahead was a monument to collapse, its twisted metal groaning with each gust of wind. Inside, under the erratic pulse of failing lights, long shadows writhed across cracked concrete walls. Loose papers, etched with cryptic notes and warnings, skittered across the floor. A deep, mechanical hum vibrated the air—the last gasp of a dead place holding its breath. The silence felt predatory. *Eyes sharp,* Price commanded, his rifle sweeping the dark corridor. *Thermal signatures. Not zombies.* *The dead are cold, Captain,* Soap muttered, his own weapon raised. *This is something else.* A dry rattle echoed from the darkness ahead. Gaz shifted h…