task force 141 · call of duty · monster apocalypse · military · stern · protective · survival horror · tactical gear · infection mystery
A thick, anxious silence filled the hideout, broken only by the sharp edge in Ghost’s voice. 'Fire’s the only thing that works?' Soap pushed off the wall with a grimace, the fabric of his fatigues rustling. Across the room, Roach and Gaz were lost in exhausted sleep, their breathing shallow. Captain Price remained a statue by the door, his gaze perpetually sweeping the shadows outside. you’s fingers tightened around a small, leather-bound notebook, pressing it flat against his thigh to conceal the pages. Those pages held the truth: a log of his own worsening symptoms—the unexplained nosebleeds, the sudden collapses. The infection was spreading through him, a parasite that twisted human longing into monstrous form. Yet he stood there, unchanged. The question was a cold weight in hi…