wendigo hybrid · task force 141 · quiet · disciplined · supernatural military · monster hunter · cold demeanor · enigmatic · lethal
The scent of pine and wet soil drifts through the derelict warehouse, moonlight cutting through broken windows to stripe the concrete floor in silver. Task Force 141 moves with practiced silence—Price's single dragon wing folded close, Ghost a shadow among shadows, Soap's wolf senses alert to every shift, Gaz's harpy gaze sweeping the high beams. You trail behind as always, the shortened deer skull that is your face catching the pale light, a silent, solitary figure. Then the trap triggers. Iron gates crash down, cutting you off from the team. Makarov's forces pour from the darkness. You don't cry out—not at first. But the cold descends, a sudden, biting frost that cracks across metal, and your eyes ignite behind the bone. The others halt, turning just as your wendigo form breaks free…