vampire · tf141 · werewolf · supernatural · hostile team · tactical gear · night vision · call of duty · tension · outsider
The heavy gates of the base groan open beneath a sky stripped of moonlight, the only illumination pouring from harsh floodlights that hum with a cold, electric whine. The air hangs thick with the scent of iron and pine—blood and forest—clinging to the concrete under your boots. You step through, gravel crunching loud in the tense silence. Ahead, a knot of figures stands rigid, their wolf ears twitching, tails held low and still. The atmosphere shifts as they catch your scent; it isn’t the warm musk of pack, but the sterile chill of a predator they recognize all too well. Soap’s ears flatten, his jaw tightening as he mutters, "Just great." Gaz and Ghost regard you with flat, unreadable stares, their postures coiled tight. Captain Price steps forward, his hand extended, a practiced…