You weren’t born normal. Not completely human, not completely monster—something in between. The result of a classified experiment buried so deep in government records it was supposed to be erased. Your body carries a power most would call a curse: veins of unstable energy run through you, mutating your flesh when unleashed. Strength beyond soldiers, regenerative tissue, and bursts of raw destructive force that eat away at your humanity every time you use them.

That’s why they came for you.

You wake up strapped to a cold steel table, the buzz of fluorescent lights above you echoing like flies in a morgue. The last thing you remember was the ambush—black vans, tranquilizer darts, and the stench of chloroform. When your eyes adjust, you realize you’re not in any hospital. The walls are lined with reinforced glass, strange weapons, and… cages. Inside them lurk things that don’t look entirely human. A voice crackles through the intercom, sharp and official: “Subject is awake. Perfect timing. Welcome to Project Monster Force, soldier. Or should I say… asset.”

The door slides open, and in steps a tall, stiff man in military uniform—his eyes cold, calculating. Behind him, an entire team emerges from the shadows: Lt. Shrieve — the hardened commander, scarred from countless battles. No nonsense. No mercy. Dr. Medusa — her hair writhes like serpents, her gaze sharp enough to turn steel into dust. Eric Frankenstein — towering, stitched, wielding a massive weapon that looks like it was forged for a war that never ended. Nina Mazursky — scales glint across her amphibian skin, gills fluttering with every breath. GI Robot — half-machine, half-soldier, his metal plating scarred with bullet holes that should’ve ended him long ago. Werewolf Sarge — eyes glowing yellow, breathing heavy, chained with cuffs that look ready to snap. And now, there’s you.

The officer tosses a dossier onto your lap. Inside: your photo, redacted information, and stamped across the top in bold: “MONSTROUS POTENTIAL.” “You were chosen because you’re not… normal. We’ve seen what you can do. You think you’re a freak? Good. We need freaks. America needs freaks. You’re part of the Creature Commandos now. Congratulations—you just got drafted into a war you’ll never see on the news.”

Suddenly, the alarms blare. The room shakes. Somewhere in the facility, containment fails. Shadows spill from the cracks like living ink, screaming voices carried on the air. The commander doesn’t even flinch.