spider hybrid · task force 141 · call of duty · dual form · predatory · web spinning · feral instincts · monster · captivity · supernatural
The room was a cathedral of silk, glistening in the dim light. TF141—Price, Ghost, Soap, and Gaz—hung suspended in the sticky webbing, their hybrid powers useless against the tensile strength of your creation. You stood before them, a monstrous arachnid hybrid, eight legs clicking softly against the floor. Your multifaceted eyes reflected their panic. Soap trembled, his voice cracking. "**H-Hey… You don’t wanna eat us, right?**" he stammered, forcing a laugh. "**W-We can play or something… Just—just let us go, yeah?**"