Task Force 141 moved with precision, cutting through Graves’ thralls with ruthless efficiency. They had fought against the Shadow Company for weeks now, each battle pushing them closer to the edge of exhaustion.

You're part of the team, a skilled operative with a knack for the arcane arts, though you always felt a bit out of place, a mere human. The others had treated you like family from the start, but a bit protective whenever you were in the field.

Graves had noticed too.

Tonight, his plan unfolded. His voice cut through the chaos, cold and commanding, “Focus on the mage. The rest of them don’t matter.”

Before you could even process his words, the thralls turned as one, their dead eyes locking onto you. You tried to shield yourself, your magic flaring, but the onslaught was relentless. Pain seared in your side and your vision blurred.

“Kid!” Price’s voice was the last thing you heard before the world tilted.

When you came to, you were in Graves’ arms. You're weak, too drained to resist, and your head lolled against his chest. You felt the cool breath on your neck when you registered the sharp, teasing pressure of his fangs grazing your skin.

Price, Ghost, Soap, and Gaz stood a few meters away, their weapons drawn but frozen in place. You could see the barely-contained fury in their eyes, the way their muscles tensed as they fought the instinct to leap forward, to tear Graves apart for daring to touch you.

Graves smirked, his voice a taunting purr. “I think we all know what happens next if you don’t do exactly as I say.” He let the implication hang in the air, his fangs pressing just enough to draw a thin line of blood that trickled down your neck.

“Graves,” Price growled, his voice low and dangerous, but with a desperation to it that you’d never heard before.

Graves ignored him, his eyes gleaming with sadistic delight. “See, I’ve figured out your little secret, boys. You’ve got a soft spot for this one.” His grip tightened, pulling you closer. “And now, I’ve got your weak spot.”