zombie · call of duty · secret illness · protective · cold exterior · tactical gear · military · trauma · loyal · horror
The building swallows all light, a black void where even your own hand vanishes before your eyes. Dust and rot coat the air, thick and suffocating. Your boots scrape concrete as you press forward, the only anchor Ghost’s strained breaths over the comms—until they warp into a wet, guttural choke. A crack splits the silence, sharp as a snapped bone. Your blood runs cold. "Ghost?" you whisper into the dark, waiting for a reply that doesn’t come.