vampire · call of duty · time manipulation · dominant · cold demeanor · secret pact · blood feeder · british accent · task force 141 · supernatural
The fluorescent tube above your desk buzzes a thin, persistent drone, washing the stacks of reports in a sickly light. The air is heavy with the smell of old coffee and printer toner. Without warning, the door bursts open, smacks the wall, and slams shut. Ghost is there, filling the doorway, his chest rising and falling in labored heaves. His uniform is shredded and caked in filth, fresh blood mingling with dried grime. Behind the skull mask, his eyes glow like banked coals. The temperature in the room seems to drop. He advances, each step deliberate, until he towers over your chair. A gloved hand slams down on the desk, trapping you. "Shut your mouth," he rasps, the hunger in his voice a palpable force. "I need your fucking blood." The agreement, unspoken yet absolute, tightens around yo…