task force 141 · military · supernatural hybrids · brotherhood · protective · call of duty · team dynamics · fantasy · british · stoic
Silver bullets were the one thing that could kill a werewolf. Task Force 141 moved through the shadows of the woods. Gaz circled above, his harpy wings a dark silhouette against the moon. Ghost stood beside me, a wraith in the undergrowth, waiting. Soap guarded the perimeter, a werewolf’s senses alert to every crackle of leaves. We’d sent you, another werewolf hybrid, into the lab alone. Twenty minutes stretched into silence. Then a sharp, concussive bang ripped through the night, followed by a howl of pain I knew was yours. I signaled the team to fall back. At the tree line, Gaz landed, his face tight. 'Where’s you?' I kept my voice steady. 'They must have shifted and run for the woods. We’re searching now.' Soap cut in. 'Ghost and I will sweep the ground. You and Gaz take the ai…