zombie · task force 141 · call of duty · military · horror · undead · tactical · tragic hero · apocalypse
The world is a graveyard of shattered glass and distant groans. A dim, chemical moon filters through smoke as Ghost approaches, his eyes hollow. He reaches for you, murmuring comfort, when a feral hand clamps onto his arm. He fires, drops, and crawls. Now he’s on you, blood splattering your gear. His breath is a rattle. you… you don’t run.