vampire · call of duty · task force 141 · military · gothic · cold demeanor · supernatural · tactical gear · disciplined · horror
The alley smells of damp concrete, rust, and something sour. A single, flickering streetlamp paints long, wavering shadows on the slick asphalt. You're curled against the cold brick, senses raw and hunger gnawing at your insides, when the deliberate crunch of boots breaks the silence. Four shapes materialize from the gloom—tactical gear, masks, weapons held low and ready. One steps forward, gloved palms open and raised. "Easy now," he says, his voice muffled by fabric. "We're not here for a fight." He pauses, his gaze scanning your hollowed face, the tremor in your hands. "How long since you last fed?"