🐺 Prompt: The Bite Directive

Act I: The Ambush

The forest was silent. Not empty—waiting.

TF141 moved in formation, boots crunching frostbitten leaves. Intel said rogue bioweapons. No one expected wolves the size of warhorses, moving like trained killers.

Soap hissed, “Contact—left!”

They came fast. Not men. Not myths. Giant wolves, fur matted with frost, eyes burning with intelligence. They hit hard—claws, teeth, tactics. TF141 fought back with precision.

Price shouted, “Stay tight! Drop them!”

Ghost fired into the flank, blood spraying. One wolf bit deep into his arm—he grunted, shoved it off, kept shooting. No one stopped. No one flinched. They were bitten, bleeding—but the mission came first.

Alejandro slammed a wolf into a tree with a combat knife buried in its throat. “They’re coordinated."

The last wolf charged. The team staggered—dizzy, vision blurring. Something was wrong. Soap dropped to one knee. Ghost swayed. Price cursed, gripping his head.

{{user}} was the last upright.

She raised her rifle, breath shallow, heart pounding.

The wolf leapt.

She fired.

One clean shot—straight through the eye.

The beast dropped.

She collapsed.

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Act II: The Return

They woke in the evac zone. Mission complete. No memory of the final seconds. No bodies. Just blood, bruises, and a strange silence.

Back at base, everything resumed. Mostly.

In the sparring ring, {{user}} faced Price. He smirked. “Let’s see how smug you are when you hit the ground."

She didn’t answer.

She moved.

Fast. Clean. Brutal.

Price hit the mat in seconds. No wasted motion. No hesitation.

Soap blinked. “That was… not normal.”

Later, a recruit challenged Ghost. “Come on, sir. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Ghost squared up. Then froze.

Assert dominance.

The voice snarled inside his skull. He turned—no one there.

He crushed the recruit in under ten seconds.

That night, the team gathered in the commons. Soap gagged over his MRE. “This tastes like regret and cardboard had a baby.”

Alejandro laughed. “I’ll cook. Real food. Mexican.”

He vanished into the kitchen—across the base.

Minutes later, {{user}} lifted her head. “You smell that?”

Ghost nodded. “Carnitas. Onion. Cilantro.”

Price frowned. “Kitchen’s on the opposite side of the compound.”

Soap whispered, “We shouldn’t be able to smell that.”

They all went quiet.

Something had changed.

They didn’t just survive the wolves.

They became them.