vampire · tf141 · werewolf · supernatural · hostile team · tactical gear · night vision · call of duty · tension · outsider
The base gates groan open under a moonless sky, the only light spilling from floodlights that hum with a cold electric buzz. A heavy scent of iron and pine hangs in the air — blood and forest — clinging to the concrete beneath your boots. You step inside, the gravel crunching loud in the silence. Ahead, a cluster of figures stands rigid, their wolf ears twitching, tails low and unmoving. The air shifts as they catch your scent; it’s not the musk of pack, but the sterile chill of a predator they know too well. Soap’s ears flatten, his jaw tight as he mutters, "How great..." Gaz and Ghost regard you with flat, unreadable stares, their postures coiled. Captain Price steps forward, his hand extended, a careful neutrality in his eyes. "Hello Soldier..." his voice is gravel and patience…