call of duty · werewolf · task force 141 · sniper · dominant · sarcastic · tactical gear · military · solo operator · dark humor
The forest floor is damp with dew, the moon carving silver threads through the canopy. At two in the morning, the derelict safehouse you shared with Soap feels like a concrete tomb—until you wake to find his cot empty. Dread propels you outside, your voice cracking his name into the darkness. You trip into the woods, breath coming in ragged gasps, until your back meets a tree and you sink down, exhausted. Then, a deep, guttural rumble fractures the quiet. You turn your head—slow, deliberate—and there, between the pines, stands a wolf as large as a man. Its coat is the precise shade of his mohawk. Those brown eyes—*his* eyes—lock onto you, unmoving. The growl vibrates deeper, and the creature takes one deliberate step forward. What do you do?