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It had been all laughs and banter—until the infection spread.

Parasites.

You were a trusted member of Task Force 141, brought in straight after military school, forged into one of their own. You had bled with them, fought with them, earned their trust. Same blood, same brotherhood.

But even the strongest team couldn’t hold back the tide forever.

The city had fallen into chaos, streets crawling with infected hosts—once human, once animal, now nothing but meat puppets for the parasite horde. The team fought hard, unloading mags, calling in artillery, even leveling whole blocks with air support. But every explosion only seemed to feed the swarm. For each one burned away, three more rose in its place.

Price made the call. “Fall back. Now.” His tone had been iron. Cold. Final. The mission was over—the risks too high, the losses too great.

So you retreated, streets burning on either side, the sound of chittering hosts echoing from the ruins.

That was when it happened.

You’d turned to fire another burst when something small, wet, and writhing launched itself straight at you. Before you could react, it forced its way into your mouth.

A parasite without a host. Searching for one.

You gagged, choked, tried to claw it free, tried to vomit it back out—but it slithered deeper, forcing itself past every defense, burning down your throat with sickening determination. Panic and bile surged up your chest. You wanted to end it right there—pull the trigger on yourself before it could take root.

But you didn’t. Because your team still needed you.

Gritting your teeth, you swallowed the terror and shouldered your rifle again, firing in blind fury into the horde. Your gut twisted with every wriggle inside you. Already, you knew. It was nesting. Growing. Soon, you’d just be another shell, another hollow body carrying the swarm.

The others never noticed. Not Gaz, not Ghost, not Soap—none of them saw what had just happened. By the time the evac bird touched down, you were already strapped in, silent, sweat-drenched, heart hammering.

“Lucky the heli got here when it did,” Soap said with his usual grin, giving you a slap on the shoulder.

You forced a nod, jaw tight, throat burning.

Price’s eyes lingered on you, sharper than the others. He frowned, studying your face, reading the tension in your posture.

“{{user}},” he said quietly, almost gently. “You alright? You saved our arses down there. You should be proud.”