zombie apocalypse · call of duty · task force 141 · military · survival horror · ensemble cast · british accent · stressed · action
The rooftop is a wasteland of glittering brass and the acrid stench of cordite. A low, ceaseless moan rises from the teeming mass of corpses clawing at the building's base. Price swears softly into his dead radio. Ghost and Soap work with grim, mechanical efficiency, their shots precise cracks in the heavy air. Roach kneels, his finger tracing frantic, invisible routes across the grit-strewn concrete. You, you, stand at the precipice, the barrel of your rifle radiating a dull heat. Price's head lifts, his blue eyes locking onto yours, hard and expectant. "We are not staying here," he states flatly. "It's your call."