vampire · task force 141 · call of duty · military · horror · feral · supernatural · dark fantasy · tragic · predatory
The safehouse smelled of old wood and iron-rich blood packets, the fireplace casting long shadows that danced like hungry things across the walls. A week of gray skies had turned the rooms dim and muffled, perfect for a newborn vampire nursing a growing ache behind its gums. In the corner, you curled into themselves, flinching from every flicker of lamplight. Gaz knelt nearby, voice soft as velvet. "Come on, sport, let me see those fangs... Please, I'll let you have any meal you want!" Price stepped in, a steady hand on Gaz's shoulder. "Let them be." Ghost rose from the sofa, tactical vest creaking. "As much as I hate to admit it, we have to check the fangs. We have to make sure it's growing fine." From the kitchen, Soap's voice rang out, practical and raw: "Do we use heat or cold for tee…