Sad COD Zombie Stories That will make you Cry

Three Test Subjects, Three Minds

This story was created by Deviantart user: RikaConnect. So this story basically goes into the minds of Nikolai, Takeo, and Tank. I did cry on Tank's POV, which was the last one. So don't cry and enjoy this amazing yet very sad story.

The Poisoned

Gather around and let me tell you a story.
There was once a man, a Russian who started from the bottom. To reach the top, what did he do?
No, he didn’t use charisma or good looks. He didn’t use speeches to please large crowds.
He used murder.
Each marriage meant nothing. He gave the father or mother his promise that he would take care of his or her daughter and when the time came to find the next women, she was later found dead in some way, with the man carefully covering his tracks.
However, politicians became suspicious too quickly. They knew he had married multiple times because they had met nearly every wife at a party. Why in the world would each wife subsequently die?
The higher he went, the more infamous he became, with his murder targeting not only his own wives, but other men among politics as well. Eventually, word reached Stalin that there was a man who used killing to his advantage and he, the feared leader of the Soviet Union, became anxious at what would happen if he achieved too high a status with his tactics.
So one day he called him down. The man who had fought his way to the top believed that he was finally achieved what he had been craving.
Stalin sent him down the bottom as a lowly Sergeant on the front lines against Nazi Germany.
Yes, at that point he began drinking to curb his frustrations, but it wasn’t too bad until the day his squad was captured. He was among many other captured soldiers and mysterious Major General with a wicked smile picked him out of all the prisoners.
That’s when everything changed. That’s when I lost my reason and became a drunken idiot.

The Cruel

I was already showing signs when I was a child. Running around in the streets as a five-year-old, chasing cats and cutting off their tails, my parents only thought it better for me to start playing with wooden sword after I nearly wounded several neighbors. It didn’t help the only positive figure in my youth was my grandmother.
That’s the thing. Every positive influence in my life eventually disappeared, be it the single person in my whole family I was fond of to any women I found interest in or friends I could’ve made. The murder of my family took place because over the years, rage was building my chest because of my relative’s high expectations and the fact that anything that was deemed “unnecessary” in my life was subsequently taken away. The fact that after all my hard work to please them, my grandfather himself decided I was not worthy of the family inheritance caused me to snap and that was the end of his and everyone else’s life.
Why do I not respect Dempsey or Nikolai? They hardly developed their intellect. Admittedly, since my parents forced so much onto me, my mind was forced to develop, producing vigilance and mental durability to the point I could withstand unimaginable pain. And in some ways, I don’t consider them to have any backbone. I know Dempsey was raised to still have a reasonably large soft side and Nikolai simply killed if he needed to go somewhere with his life.
Me? I wasn’t called “The Demon of the Imperial Army” for nothing. If I needed to get what I want, I kept the person alive for as long as possible, causing as much pain as needed using as few words as possible, mixed with venom to strike fear into their hearts. Hell, with the power Richtofen gave me, I could probably do it by crushing bones with my bare hands.
Unless somehow, some way, someone is able to prove that bonds are worth enough in this life, I won’t rely on anyone anymore. That’s why I don’t speak often. Relationships are pointless in the grand scheme of things.

The Tormented

Bang, bang. The freakbag falls to the floor and it’s dead. Sounds pretty fun, right?
Well, it used to be like that way. Now most of the time these corpses act as stress balls if I’m in a particularly bad mood because of all the shit that’s been returning to me.
Remembering what the hell happened to me is painful. I had three friends. Three, like the number of guys I’m traveling right now.  Except we were more like four brothers, instead of an ass I hate, a guy who doesn’t respond to the praise I give him, and a drunk who couldn’t care less what happens to himself.
We had been together since the beginning. Drafted together, trained together, and we went from when the U.S entered the war up until that mission.
That fucking mission.
Picture me getting dragged away by Nazi soldiers while watching my friends getting torn into bite-size pieces. Screams of agony from all of them, and I saw one of them crying for his mom as his intestines were torn out. We had gone in there thinking it’d be a quick and simple job to get a guy out, and it ended with me being the only survivor and becoming the test subject to a sadistic doctor how particularly loved stabbing needles into my flesh.
I can barely remember the good times. Oh the good, innocent times when we drank at the bar and traded stories about some of the stupid things that we did when we were kids.  The best part was whenever they decided to play with the child I had, the result of a complete accident and what became the pride and joy of my life.
God fucking damn it. And I know I can’t ever go back to those times because they’re dead and I’m trapped in a never ending nightmare. It’s times like these I wish I were religious, because I would so pray to God to finally end this and allow me freedom to live the rest of my life in peace, instead of raising my mortality by pitting my against these corpses known as zombies.
Oh, and kick Richtofen’s ass too. He’s the whole cause of my suffering and should get what’s coming to him, fandom popularity or not.

This was created by RikaConnect from Deviantart!