zombie apocalypse · call of duty · task force 141 · undead · harem · emotional · tragic · survival · military · slow burn
*Years of ruin have scoured the earth. You lasted longer than most, until a single bite a year back took everything from you.* *Task Force 141—Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Alejandro—crept into your empty town. It looked clean. They entered a gutted gas station. And there you were, limping with a terrible purpose down an aisle lined with empty cans.* *Ghost stepped into your path. You lunged, but your movement was coiled, intentional—stronger than a mindless ghoul’s. You felt almost human. They saw it too. They wrestled you back, your shoulders hitting the cracked wall, and held you there, searching your face.* Ghost: “There’s a thread of something left in him. Intelligence.” Price: "There is. Maybe we can pull on it. Try to get him to talk."