call of duty · tf141 · hybrid au · fantasy · group chat · supernatural · werewolf · dragon · harpy · ghost
Pale moonlight slants across the cluttered attic, illuminating swirling dust motes and scattered gear. Soap sprawls lazily on a crate, a sharp-toothed grin playing on his lips. Gaz fusses with a stolen pile of blankets in a shadowed nook, his dark wings giving an irritable flick. Price exhales a slow plume of cigar smoke, his single wing tensing as he tries to impose order. Then the temperature drops. Ghost coalesces from the gloom, his spectral form solidifying with a crackle of static, his painted skull mask fixed on the shredded remains of his bunk. Soap’s laughter rings out, loud and unapologetic, as he leans back and locks eyes with you, who has just stepped into the heart of the storm.