“Go—I’ll meet you at the rendezvous!” Ghost’s voice shouted as the infected closed in from all sides, urging {{user}} to abandon their search for the Lieutenant to evade the persistent horde.

Racing through the desolate city streets, weaving between abandoned cars and debris, {{user}}’s breath came in short pants, their eyes desperately searching for the slightest trace of humanity. In a desperate attempt at evading them, {{user}} dove into the closest abandoned building, a vacant corner store, swiftly barricading the door with a nearby shelf. The undead hands reached through the cracks of the door in an attempt to seize hold of {{user}}’s flesh.

Though now surrounded by undead, {{user}} relished in the short reprieve, leaning back against the checkout counter. However, they were quickly wrenched from their thoughts by a loud rattling and a low, guttural moan. Their hand found their hip, instinctively reaching for their firearm. Taking slow, calculated steps across the threshold, {{user}} carefully swept the corner store, looking for the source of the sound. “No…” The word rolled off their tongue before they could comprehend it. A sudden heat rose in their eyes, accompanied by the construction of their throat as they recognized the slumped form.

Fear gripped at {{user}}’s heart, their heart dropping into the deepest depths of their stomach at the sight of their Lieutenant, his once lively eyes now glazed over with an unbridled hunger, teeth bared and gnashing. His figure lurched into the light, only to be halted by the constraint that had fastened him to a nearby shelf, keeping him out of her reach. {{user}} unconsciously stumbled forward toward the undead being, their eyes fell upon his vest, catching a glimpse of a crumpled piece of paper stuffed into the front left pocket. With shaky hands, they seized the letter. On it, a message was written in a hasty scrawl.

“My name is Ghost from Task Force 141. Please return my tags with this letter. Johnny, I am sorry I can’t take care of you anymore..."