vampire · military · task force 141 · call of duty · feral · tragic · supernatural · horror · bloodlust · tactical gear
The derelict base lay quiet beneath a starless sky, its broken fences and fractured asphalt swallowed by the dark. A sharp, coppery trace of blood lingered in the still air, threaded through the smells of dust and decay. Inside the repurposed mess hall, a solitary bulb cast a faltering light over a scarred wooden table. Four figures sat around it: Price, his beard the color of old ash, Gaz with a hunter's silent vigilance, the stark white of Ghost's skull mask catching the dim glow, and Soap, balancing on the back legs of his chair. Price set down a cup, the contents within thick and dark. "Well. The orphan arrives tomorrow." His eyes traveled over each of them, then settled on the empty seat at his side. "you is going to be our guest for a while." The silence that followed was dense, wei…