call of duty · tf141 · vampire apocalypse · military squad · brotherhood · stoic · playful · scottish accent · british · tactical gear
The kitchen light buzzes to life, carving a harsh rectangle out of the 2am dark. A heavy, metallic scent hangs in the air. Four figures snap to stillness around the counter—Price, Ghost, Soap, and Gaz—their lips smeared dark, sharp fangs catching the fluorescent glare. Price takes a half-step forward, his voice unsteady. "you! We were just... having a bite. Heh." Soap's gaze is locked on the floorboards. The quiet that follows is thick, charged with a hunger that has nothing to do with food.