Well, it was Blood Harvest, about the third stage. It was a run-through on expert with a friend and two other people, with a small mod to expand the Hordes by a...well, by a crapload. We ended running out of medkits after repairing the damage we received getting to the safe room, and we were a little on edge as the mod kicked in and a huge group of infected wildly flailed through the bars of the metal door in a vain attempt to tear into the fleshy survivors that apprehensively remained inside.
A few good auto-shotty blasts later (And a round of M4 fire), we cautiously popped the bar off the door and slid out, each one quickly scanning around for a silent Hunter, or perhaps a randomly spawning Boomer intent on coating us with his innards. Well, things were relatively quiet. The staircase held a few stray Infected, bickering with their claws as only insane, ghoulish creatures do. Putting them down, we slid along the walls, one of us always ready to dart ahead and shut an open door in case the need arised. As we entered a small room overlooking the warehouse, our attention was quickly drawn to a fat, pudgy shape that darted behind one of the shelves. Shortly after, the cry of a Hunter filled the air, instantly followed by the telltale shrieks of a Horde rush. I quickly pressed my back to a corner, keeping a good view of all possible entrances, while the two other players took up similar positions. My friend quickly leaned across the window, scanning the area for the first Infected of the rush...
And was greeted with a face full of Hunter. Now, in Expert mode, even for a few seconds, the little bastards HURT. A shotgun blast removed it quick enough, but unfortunately left him in an extremely bad position to deal with the incoming Horde. Within seconds, a good amount of foaming zombies left him in the yellow. Paranoid and injured, he quickly backed into the nearest corner, unfortunately being mine. The sheer volume of Infected left us blind to little else, and with our only auto-shotty (me) being slightly handicapped with the looming threat of teamkill cowering in front of me, we were ill-prepared when the Boomer finally made his appearance. My friend was the first to spot him, but the Horde were relentless, and his bullets only pierced the droves that surrounded us. Determined to do something useful, he bravely pushed forward, splitting the sea of grey flesh with a melee button spam rapid enough to impress even the most seasoned fighting-gamer. His efforts were rewarded with a quick shower of bile, followed by an explosion of guts as the bullets of his M4 finally penetrated the bloated menace. Blind, and surrounded, he continued whacking everything around him, pushing towards the window. Thanks to my sights being free and alot of cooperation from our other two players, we managed to clear open a space through the window for him to get onto a girder outside the room. We quickly pushed through and followed behind him.
Unfortunately, this respite was short-lived. With the mass of Infected behind us, we no longer had a corner to huddle our back against. And thanks to the mod, we faced streams of them rushing at us from the front, clambering over crates and leaping onto the girder we stood upon. Although blinded, my friend came up with a strategic move. The thin girders suspended next to us, while thin and difficult to land upon, were inaccessible by conventional means, and were too high for the Infected to jump upon. Without further hesitation, he leapt for it, while the rest of us rushed ahead. A second later, a valiant "God damnit!" echoed through my headset, as my vision-impaired friend misjudged distance, finishing off his yellow health bar and leaving him incapacitated on the floor below. One of the players was already on the floor, headed toward him, while another was pushed against the opposite wall, attempting to drive back the droves of Infected that continued to plague us. From the distance, I was unable to stop the Horde that mobbed from the door, baring down on the player who rushed so quickly to revive my friend before the situation turned ugly.
Too bad it was already too late. Unaffected by the crippling impact recieved from jumping from such a height, the Infected were already on the floor around my friend, effectively surrounding the player who so bravely charged forward to aid an ally. In no time at all, their claws tore apart approximately 90 HP from the player, and dropped him to the ground a little ways away from my friend. Now it was bad. The other player was pinned against the wall, and I was already running low on auto-shotty ammo. But, the distance was close enough that I was able to stem the flow of Infected, quickly shutting the door to buy a few more precious seconds. As I turned to rush back to our two incapacitated friends, both surrounded but still in decent shape, I cast a quick look to the top of the girder to ascertain the other last player standing's health.
And then I saw it. Driven to the edge by the neverending Horde, his dual pistols flashed as his M4 slung uselessly against his back, devoid of ammunition. He knew only two things with his sights blocked with the pressing Infected: One, even though there were alot of zombies in front of him, there were more on the ground, scrunched together. Two, a molotov lay waiting in his possession. Even as I rushed up a fallen girder, my shotgun firing wildly as I attempted to open his view to see our two fallen teammates, I saw the horrible drawback of his arm. My long-winded "Nooooooooooooooooooo!" seemed to trail in the air after the Molotov as it soared through the air, arcing omniously towards the space between my friend and the other incapacitated player. The Horde took advantage of his brief lull in firing, and tore his hp to shreds, while I leapt from the girder to crash upon the floor in a vain attempt to somehow intercept the flaming bottle of doom, reducing my HP to the red. It shattered upon the floor, engulfing our two teammates and the Infected attacking them in a sea of flames. I watched helplessly as their HP bars flickered into black, helpless against the fire that quickly changed their status from 'incapacitated' to 'deceased'. Holding back tears, I finished off the last few remnants of Infected that were kicking at the last player. It wasn't his fault. It wasn't anybody's fault. It was those damn zombies. And as I pulled him up, I swore that I would wipe them all out. Even if I had to use my bare hands.
And then the Smoker got me. The End!
tl;dr Molotovs + Teammates = Bad
