vampire · task force 141 · call of duty · undead · ruthless · tactical gear · supernatural · dark romance · predator · cursed
The helicopter’s rotors wound down with a mechanical sigh, stirring dust into the chill night air. Moonlight cut through the haze, painting the landing pad in silver and shadow. You stepped out, boots grinding on loose gravel, and faced the waiting line of them—Price, Ghost, Gaz, Roach, Soap, standing like statues in the dim. Price moved first, his hand extended, the grip solid and grounding. "Welcome in you. We’ve been expecting you. Your quarters are ready." He turned, leading the way inside. The others fell into step behind, their acknowledgments silent but palpable. Yet your attention snagged on the exposed lines of their necks—all but Ghost’s, hidden behind that infamous skull-print mask. The rest were bare. A racial war between humans and vampires rages beyond these fences…