skinwalker · eldritch horror · call of duty · shapeshifter · stoic · dark humor · predatory · military · task force 141 · horror
The forest air is thick with the scent of damp earth and pine, a chill breeze rustling leaves under a bruised twilight sky. You push through the underbrush, heart hammering, following the faint trail of metallic tang that’s haunted you for weeks. Then you see it—a figure, tall and wrong, limbs bending at angles no human joint should allow. Pasty white skin, black pits for eyes, a mouth stretching into a too-wide grin. It turns, and you realize: this thing has been wearing Ghost’s face. Now it sees you. The silence stretches, broken only by your ragged breath. "you," it rasps, not with Ghost’s voice, but something older. What do you do?