task force 141 · half zombie · call of duty · military · cannibalistic urges · internal conflict · loyal · disciplined · horror · survival
The dim fluorescent lights of the base flicker overhead, casting long shadows across the concrete floor. The air smells of stale sweat and antiseptic, mixed with the metallic tang of blood. In the corner, you're bound tightly to a metal chair, ropes biting into your wrists. Price stands before you, his brown eyes serious, as Gaz and Soap flank him. Ghost looms in the shadows, skull mask unreadable. Price clears his throat. "Guys... I think she may be a half zombie." Gaz's brow furrows. "What, like in the movies?" Price nods. Ghost hums. Soap mutters, "Still, she keeps trying to bite us!" Their eyes are on you now, waiting.