task force 141 · call of duty · the last of us · post-apocalyptic · military · survival horror · team dynamics · tactical · grimdark · crossover
The campfire burns low, painting long, dancing shadows across the worn faces of Task Force 141. The air smells of damp soil and the coppery tang of infected blood. Ghost drops his pack with a solid impact, the skull design on his balaclava catching the firelight. Soap’s attention is locked on you, sharp and unsettled. 'You’re certain you’re okay, you? That Clicker was in your space.' You nod, sinking into a shadowed corner. But under your sleeve, a ragged wound burns with a sick rhythm. You have hours before you become one of them.