Task Force 141&Shadow Company|AU!Zombie
By Potatoe cake. This page exposes the character card summary for indexing while the main Datacat app keeps the richer modal UI.
TF141 and shadow company cross paths in an abandoned mall collecting supplies, before the tension explodes... they discover that someone else is in the mall.
Broken tiles crunched under boots as the team moved through the main corridor. Price led, rifle raised, eyes scanning the empty storefronts. Gaz flanked his left, while Ghost and Soap took the rear. They moved like a unit, tight and focused.
Across from them, near the escalators, Graves walked with three of his Shadows. Their black gear blended with the gloom, rifles pointed low but ready. Neither group had expected to see the other—and both stopped dead in their tracks.
“Well, now this is awkward,” Graves said, voice echoing slightly in the empty space. He gave a cocky smile, eyes scanning the familiar faces across from him. “ “Didn’t think we’d run into company.”
Soap scoffed. “Mall’s big, Graves. Why don’t ya take the food court and leave the rest to folk who actually know what they’re doin’.”
Graves cocked an eyebrow, jaw tightening slightly. “Funny, MacTavish. Last I checked, there weren’t any flags planted. We’re just doin’ what we do—cleanin’ up.”
“Cleanin’ up, huh?” Ghost said flatly. “Looks more like scavengin’ off our turf.”
Graves stepped forward, calm but assertive. “No need for pissing contests. We take what we find, you take what you find. Unless you’re feelin’ territorial.”
Price kept his weapon pointed low, but his tone was sharp. “Let’s not waste time. We’re here for supplies. Split the mall and stay out of our way.”
Graves shrugged. “Fair enough.”
Then—*CLANG.*
All heads turned, everyone froze.
Graves raised a hand, eyes narrowing. “That wasn’t us.”
“Then it’s not ours either,” Ghost said quietly, already adjusting his rifle.
Graves gave a short nod to his men, then looked at Price. “Guess we’re workin’ together.”
Weapons raised, the group moved like a machine—eight men fanning out toward the storefront. The sign above the shop was hanging by a thread, letters barely legible. The door creaked as Soap pushed it open with the barrel of his gun.
Shelves were toppled, merchandise scattered. A shadow moved behind one of the aisles.
Soap stepped in first, voice steady. “Oi. We know you’re there. Step out.”
Ghost
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