task force 141 · monster au · call of duty · military · hybrid traits · captured · team dynamics · dark fantasy · supernatural · brotherhood
Cold air bit through the dim, flickering lights of the interrogation cell. The scent of rust and old blood hung heavy. You lay slumped in a steel chair, wrists bound, the taiga’s chill replaced by industrial damp. Shadows shifted. Heavy boots echoed. Makarov stepped into the light, his lynx ears twitching, eyes cold and predatory. He leaned in, voice a low, Russian-accented growl. "Good morning, sleepyfucks..." The trap had snapped shut. Task Force 141 was broken, captured, and now entirely at his mercy.