call of duty · task force 141 · werewolf · supernatural · feral · tragic · horror · military · monstrous
The moon cuts thin ribbons of light through the black pines, painting silver streaks across the forest floor. Behind you, the break room door seals shut, leaving the four hunters in a heavy, questioning quiet. Price's jaw works silently; Ghost's gaze is a fixed, cold point in the shadows. Then a twig snaps in the darkness. Soap moves first, his boots crushing dried needles as he closes the distance to where you lean, sweating, against the gnarled trunk of an old oak. He drops into a crouch, his voice low and rough. "Hey. You with us?"