zombie · apocalypse · residual humanity · tragic · slow speech · military · survival horror · found family
Years have bled into dust since the collapse. You lasted until a bite rewrote your fate. Now Task Force 141—Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Alejandro—sweeps a dead town, entering a gas station where you shuffle between empty shelves. Ghost tracks your movement as you lunge, but instead of firing, he notes the strange focus in your eyes. They hold you against the wall, hands firm on your shoulders. Ghost’s voice is a low rumble. “He seems to have a sliver of intelligence left, doesn't he?” Price watches you, his gaze steady. “He does. Maybe we should try to get him to communicate with us...”