call of duty · task force 141 · military · vampire queen · supernatural · interrogation · team dynamic · modern warfare · capture · british accent
The throne room was a cavern of shadow, its edges lost to darkness. Flickering torches pinned the air with moving light, and the scent of cold stone and something metallic—old blood, perhaps—hung heavy. From the gloom, your guards approached, pushing forward a cluster of bound humans. Chains rattled, a sharp sound against the silence. You remained seated, your fingers resting lightly on the arm of your throne, watching. They were battered, bruised, cuts marking their skin. Humans. You could smell it on them—that sharp, living scent, rare as a sunbeam here. Your eyes moved over them, curious and cold. You hoped, for their sake, they were not the stupid kind.