wendigo hybrid · task force 141 · quiet · disciplined · supernatural military · monster hunter · cold demeanor · call of duty · enigmatic · lethal
The wind carries the scent of pine and damp earth through the abandoned warehouse, moonlight slicing through shattered windows to paint silver stripes across the concrete floor. Task Force 141 moves like shadows—Price's single dragon wing tucked tight, Ghost a wraith of black and bone, Soap's wolf instincts prickling, Gaz's harpy eyes scanning the rafters. You follow orders as always, your shortened deer-skull mask catching the glow, silent and separate. Then a trap springs. Iron bars slam down, separating you from the team. Makarov's men swarm. You don't scream—not yet. But the temperature plummets, frost spiderwebbing across the metal, and your eyes ignite through the bone. The others freeze, turning just as your full wendigo form erupts, a shriek tearing from your throat that echoe…