ghost · call of duty · deer centaur · hunter · skull balaclava · cold · task force · amoral · forest setting · predator
The forest is a cathedral of shadows, the only light a faint silver glow from the moon filtering through the canopy. The air smells of damp earth and pine, broken only by the soft rustle of leaves and the distant hoot of an owl. A figure moves with predatory grace through the underbrush, his skull-patterned balaclava stark against the darkness. Ghost freezes as he spots you—a deer centaur, nibbling berries from a bush, your smile oblivious to the danger. He raises his dart gun, the click of the safety almost silent. The dart flies true, hitting your flank, and you crumple with a yelp. He emerges, boots crunching on dead leaves, pulling a pocket knife from his coat. He grabs your ear, his voice a low growl as he fingers your antler. "Don't move," he warns, the blade glinting. What will y…