"You're still alive? Impressive..."

Resident Evil Village

Hunting Grounds (self-insert series)

Prologue

Karl Heisenberg x Reader

Getting head (headcanons)

Scent/Marking (headcanons)

Call of Duty

Dragon Hybrid Reader x Orca Hybrid Ghost

First Impressions (blurb)

First Transformation (blurb)

Dragon Hybrid Reader x Handler Ghost

Scars (blurb)

…

Archive:

You’re the only hybrid on the team. Unimpressive in your human form, it looks like your handler might break you in half if he isn’t careful. 

Your dragon form is terrifying, yet beautiful in a way. Scales like obsidian and fiery eyes to match. You have heat vents that line your neck and sides; they vent out excess heat and the byproducts of your breath weapon, often shrouding you in a cloud of smoke and ash. You're like a volcano given life. A near-unstoppable force of nature. 

Most hybrids heal faster than humans. But your abilities took that one step further with a regenerative healing factor. However, not all of your wounds heal entirely. Your healing factor can only take so much. Over time, you end up covered in scars. 

Scars that litter your dragon form and never quite fade on your human one. The scars appear white, a harsh contrast across your once pristine hide. Your scales and flesh become mottled with grey and white over the course of countless battles. 

You’re reckless. Fiercely protective of your team. But you’re so caught up in your determination to protect them that you don’t see what your repeated sacrifices are doing to them. 

They hate seeing you take hits for them. They hate seeing you collect scar after scar for their sakes. 

Price finds it harder and harder to sleep. It’s not like he can bench you, not really. He keeps trying to train you. Trying to steer you towards better choices. He can’t stop thinking about what he could’ve done differently on past missions. Why can’t he keep his entire team safe? Why must one of his own keep suffering for the sake of the others?

Gaz keeps trying to take care of you. He’s purchased a variety of scar care products and attempts to convince you to let him try them out on you. He tries to offer massages too; he notices how tense you’ve been. How certain movements seem to pull at your marred skin. But you always brush him off. Your healing factor is still doing its job, right? What do you care about a couple of scars? You don’t quite see how bad it’s gotten. You’ve grown calloused to the sight of yourself in the mirror. 

Soap notices how you never seem to relax, not anymore. He’s tested various tactics in an attempt to trick you into taking better care of yourself. He asks you to join him for a nap, but you just stay awake and watch over him instead. He invites you out for dinners, trying to at least get you a proper meal once in a while, but you’ve been leaving the base less and less lately. You find it increasingly difficult to simply exist in the civilian world anymore. 

Ghost, your handler and your closest friend, sees it all. He’s been quietly observing how you’ve changed over time. He hasn’t missed a thing. The way you don’t seem to care how badly you get hurt just because you can recover well enough. The way you see yourself as a living weapon rather than a person. How you’ve become more and more anxious and protective over time. It hurts to watch. 

One night, as you restlessly pace back and forth in your room, Ghost walks in. He doesn’t ever bother knocking; he knows your sharp senses could pick him out miles away. 

“Lay down.” 

You open your mouth to argue, or at least question him. But you’re tired. You’re so fucking tired. So you obey. 

The moment you settle into your bed, Ghost joins you. The absolute mountain of a man fully wraps himself around you and almost crushes you against his chest. 

You tense for a minute. It’s a tad alarming that your usually anti-touch handler is suddenly on top of you. But you quickly relax into it. 

It’s nice. To be held, to feel safe. To finally be the one who's being protected. 

You had no idea how hard you’ve been pushing yourself lately. Not until now, as your body trembles in his grasp and tears well up in your eyes. 

You hesitated to show your true form; it sent the average man running and screaming. And while your new teammates were no ordinary men, they still had every right to fear you. So, you only partially shifted around them in the beginning. Using your claws, wings, and tail while training. But nothing more. You even held back your instinctual urge to use your breath weapon, instead reserving it for actual threats. 

When the team first sees you in action, they’re suspiciously calm about it. A moment of shock before turning back to the firefight. Not that it was much of a fight. You shifted into your full dragon form. Your wings block out the sky, your hide as tough as Kevlar, your claws strong enough to tear through metal. And your breath weapon… You wield energy as easily as you wield a gun. Blasts of fire, arcs of lightning, and beams of plasma. All tearing through the enemy and turning their entire base to ash. It’s a terrifying sight. 

The ride back to base is a quiet one. No one is really looking at you. So you glare at the floor; you’re used to this response after all. But a small part of you hoped they wouldn’t be afraid; maybe you thought wrong.

It wasn’t until Price spoke up. “Fuckin hell kid… I think you somehow undersold yourself.” 

Gaz nodded along, stunned but with a hint of awe on his face. 

While Soap muttered, “Didn’t expect ye’ to be that bloody massive.” 

Well, he’s not unjustified. You’re bigger than a pickup truck and still growing as you get stronger. At least one of your forms is intimidating. Your human form is most definitely not.

Ghost, however, is eerily still. Just staring at you with his eyes glinting in the low light. He’s been so wary of you ever since you joined, barely exchanging a word at a time. So it’s a shock when he speaks up. “How many hits did you take for us?” 

You’re stunned, no one’s ever asked that before. Usually, people are so distracted by the light show that they don’t notice how you use yourself as a shield. They don’t look too closely at the ever-changing collection of scars across your skin. 

Sheepishly, you answer, not like you can ignore a direct question from your superior. “Uh, I don’t usually keep track, sir.”

It’s true, you stopped counting a long time ago. Like all other hybrids, you have a healing factor. But being a dragon, yours is far stronger than usual; you have regenerative capabilities. So after each fight, when you walk away with an assortment of new scars, they completely disappear by the next battle. Just to be replaced, of course.

So it’s nothing new. Sure, it sucks; it’s not like you can’t feel every ounce of pain. But you’ve gotten used to it.

The way Ghost is glaring at you now, practically freezing you in place… did you say something wrong? Despite your own bloody reputation, you were still intimidated by him. The infamous Ghost, the orca hybrid that's never failed a mission. He’s far more experienced and skilled than you could ever hope to be. You shift nervously in your seat, but no one says anything else the entire ride back.

What a mess. You automatically assume your first mission with the team was a disaster. No one’s talking to you. They’re all avoiding your gaze. Just like everyone else does once they see the full scope of your power. 

Now that you're back at the base and you've gotten cleaned up, you have to figure out your next move. Should you put in for another transfer? You don’t want to leave, not this time, not when you were so close to truly being part of a team. 

But something unexpected happens. When you’re walking back to your room, you see Ghost standing outside the door, waiting for you.

You freeze up; he’s hard to read as always. But regardless, you nervously question him. “Oh, hey. What's up?”

Ghost is in a simple black t-shirt and sweats, donning a mask that only covers half his face, but he’s still intimidating. The damn orca is easily twice your size. You’re deceptively small considering your true power level. 

When he speaks, it inexplicably sends a shiver down your spine. “We need to talk. May I come in?”

You nervously flick your tongue, tasting his scent in the air. Warm, masculine, fresh out of the shower... He doesn’t seem angry, at least. So you nod and open the door for him. “Sure, yeah, of course. What about?” 

He brushed past you with a mildly amused look, as if questioning your behavior. You’re a force to be reckoned with in the field, but obviously not so good with people.

You awkwardly let him into your room and close the door behind you, moving to settle on your bed. He takes his time, glancing around at his surroundings before taking a deep breath and taking in your scent as well. 

You’re nervous; that's obvious, but he can’t help but appreciate your natural scent. Underneath the soap and deodorant. He may not have the sharpest sense of smell as an orca hybrid, but he seems pleased with what he can detect. “About today’s mission…”

Oh gods, this is it. Is he gonna yell at you? Are you getting kicked off the team? What did you do wrong this time??

But before you could spiral any further, he walked up to you, stopping just before reaching your bed, ever respectful of your space. “Just wanted to thank you properly. I saw how you defended us.” His voice was a low rumble, yet without the usual coldness you’ve come to expect from him. 

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “Oh, right. Don’t mention it, just doing my job.”

But Ghost shakes his head, quickly rebuking your practiced response. “No, it’s more than that. I could see it in your eyes.” He’s perceptive, scarily so. He saw right through your usual reply. 

No one believes you at first. When they heard a “dragon hybrid” was joining the team, they assumed the higher-ups meant a Komodo dragon. Alright, rare and unusual, but they could work with it.

What the team wasn’t expecting was a fire-breathing dragon straight out of a book. You shouldn’t exist. There’s nothing else even remotely like you. Every other hybrid is exactly that, a hybrid of an existing or even previously existing animal and a human. But a fucking dragon? It shouldn’t be possible.

You’re used to it. The stares, the questions, the disbelief. But it gets tiring after a while. You’ve stopped trying to prove yourself a long time ago; no point in arguing. Now you just stick to yourself, focusing on your job, one mission after another. Now, if people don’t believe you, they’ll be proven wrong on the battlefield.

Task Force 141 is unique. The best of the best, they're all damn good at what they do. But that's not the interesting part; they’re a team made up entirely of hybrids. Something completely unheard of. It was standard for every hybrid to have a handler, if not several. So, while this was a nice change in pace, it was one that was hard to trust. Granted, you don’t have a handler either, but you proved it was more trouble than it was worth a long time ago. Not many were brave enough to try anyway.

Price was professional at first, stern in a way that left no room to question his authority. Gruff voice and a hard stare that you tried to avoid. Yet he still offered a warmth you hadn’t expected. As if he could see right through your guarded expression since day one. Sensing how desperately you wanted to feel like you belonged somewhere. It was obvious how much he cared about his team and how badly he wanted you to fit in with his pack. 

Soap was loud, but friendly. Incredibly forward at times, but you didn't quite have a reference for acceptable hybrid behavior. Upon first meeting you, Soap immediately grabbed you by the shoulders and stuck his nose against your neck to properly inhale your scent. This, of course, elicited a rather intimidating growl from you. So deep everyone could feel it in their bones. But you didn’t snap; that level of restraint didn’t go unnoticed. You hesitated to indulge Soap in any of his bonding attempts after your first meeting.  Offering to share food, trying to challenge you to play fights. But his eagerness eventually won you over. The first time you offered something off your plate, you could hear his tail wagging excitedly, thumping loudly against the bench. The two of you quickly became close friends; he was the first to win you over. 

Gaz was intrigued; cautious, he’d offer advice and a place to sit. He was quieter and more observant than Soap, but just as friendly and playful. He seemed determined to figure you out. He kept testing the waters, sitting a little too close, wrapping his tail around you, letting out soft chirps and purrs just to see how you’d respond. Gaz even had the bright idea to start leaving clothing lying around for you to find. Wanting you to get used to his scent. He couldn’t hide his excitement when you softened and accepted him, finally relaxing enough to return some of his gestures. 

Ghost, on the other hand, seemed wary at best. He was quiet, respectful, but he kept his distance. While his teammates were trying to befriend you, he was studying you, as if still trying to determine if you were a threat or not. You were uneasy around him at first, but once you warmed up to the others, you saw him in a different light. His guarded nature was something you understood. So you let him be for the most part, figuring he’d come around eventually. You even started to find his constant presence looming over you a comfort in an odd way. 

… 

Heisenberg is extremely possessive and will go great lengths to claim you. He wants to make it clear that you are his and his alone. 

It starts small and relatively tame. Keeping tabs on you, but rarely directly interfering. Lingering in the background to make his presence known. Few would dare to cross one of the four lords after all, his very existence is often enough. 

Sporadically, he’ll come up behind you and pull you against his chest. One hand firmly planted on your hip, while the other grabs your jaw to tilt your head and allow easy access to your neck. 

He’s rough, fingertips leaving a lasting impression while he clumsily covers your neck in hickeys. Affection is still foreign to him. 

The assortment of bruises only serves as proof of how badly he wants to love you, even if he doesn’t know how at first. Not unlike a rescue dog still learning how to be gentle. 

But as time passes, he grows bolder. Biting hard enough to leave permanent marks, preferably in places everyone can see. His favorite “love bite,” as he calls it, is the perfect impression of his fangs encircling your bicep. 

Heisenberg had roughly pinned you against a wall, calloused hand wrapped around your throat. Not enough pressure to choke you, but enough to get the point across. You were not allowed to escape. You had no choice but to submit to his whims.  Something had upset him. Maybe you strayed too far from him for too long. Maybe one of the other lords tried to take you from him. The exact details didn’t matter; he was beyond reason. The fear of losing you quickly transformed into fury. Any rational thought was entirely overtaken by instinct.  He snapped forward, catching your arm in his mouth, and he clamped down without hesitation. His sharp, wolf-like fangs pierced your skin with ease. It hurt, of course, but the second your blood dripped onto his tongue, he closed his eyes and moaned into the bite. That alone was enough to dull the pain.  His grip softened, hand drifting away from your throat to caress your jawline. His touch was oddly gentle in contrast to the vice-like grip his jaws held you in. As if he were torn between the anger that’s ruled his life and the reverence he holds only for you.  His frenzied need to claim you was soon satiated. But the damage was done. And now, you wear a badass scar that shows who you belong to.  Whenever you catch Heisenberg staring at the scar, you can see a combination of satisfaction and regret in his gaze. 

And it doesn’t take long for you to figure out just how far his obsession with you goes. 

You start to notice certain articles of clothing disappear over time. It’s little things at first, and infrequent enough to brush it off. 

But Heisenberg has no shame. In fact, he wants you to catch him. 

Soon, you begin finding said missing clothing stashed around his factory. Only now adorned with various stains. You can put two and two together. 

Eventually, you catch him in the act. 

You find him hunched over a table in the foundry. He’s wearing a dirty white tank top, soaked with sweat and streaked with oil stains. This, in and of itself, isn’t an odd sight. But the noises he was making certainly caught your attention.  Heisenberg is panting and groaning softly, needy sounds from deep in his throat that paint a picture of desperation. Evidently making no great effort to hide what he’s up to.  Muscular, slicked in sweat, and decorated in scars. Truly a sight to marvel at. The way his back muscles ripple in sync with the movement of his arm is mesmerizing in a way.  And when you move closer? He has the audacity to laugh and invite you to watch.  “I was wondering when you’d catch on. Just sit back and enjoy the show, pretty boy.”  Heisenberg turns to face you. A pair of your boxers in his left hand and his heavy cock in his right.  Precum is already streaming from his tip, coating his dick and hand in a copious amount of fluid. Effectively acting as a lubricant with which he’s jerking himself off. The slick sounds that follow are downright obscene.  He’s stroking himself at an almost casual pace. Not chasing his release, but rather, prioritizing the languid display he’s putting on for you.  He maintains heavy eye contact the entire time. Even as he brings your boxers to his face and inhales your scent. Huffing whatever residual musk he can find. His cock twitches in response, and he picks up the pace.  When he speaks up again, it’s with a low whine as his movements begin to stutter.  “As much as I love your scent, you need to smell more like me.”  And just like that, he’s cumming. Even he looks startled at how abrupt his release is, and he clumsily readjusts to spill the rest of his load into the pair of your boxers.  “Ah— fuck.” He recovers quickly, and a smirk spreads across his face while he admires the mess he made. His hand, your underwear, and the floor are all splattered with various amounts of cum.  “I suppose you can have these back now. You can thank me later.” 

I doubt Heisenberg would care about bathing regularly. He gets too wrapped up in his work. While engrossed in a project, he barely eats or sleeps, much less bothers with personal hygiene. 

So if you’re into a bit of musk and engine grease? Great! If not, you could probably convince him to bathe more often if you offer to join him. Or just blast him with a garden hose on occasion until he gets the point.

However, when it comes to your bathing habits, Heisenberg absolutely cares. Those sharp senses of his miss nothing. And he fucking loves your natural scent. 

What you consider basic personal hygiene and self-care, he considers a nuisance. Your deodorant and cologne mask your body odor. Your frequent showers/baths rob him of the opportunity to taste your sweat. And your clean clothes carry no trace of the previous day's hard work. (Hence why he’s resorted to stealing your dirty laundry.) 

Sooner or later, he decides he’s had enough. 

First, let’s talk about his dick. Uncut, 7.5 inches, and THICK. Intimidating at first, but you learn to manage it.

He’s easy to work up and quick to finish. Heisenberg has gone a very long time without so much as a gentle touch, so can you really blame him? However! He has crazy stamina and can easily go multiple rounds.

He would prefer to set the pace, especially if you haven’t known each other long yet. Giving up that control requires a lot of trust from him. But he’s downright pathetic once he finally gives in.

This man is fucking loud. He has absolutely no shame and holds nothing back. At first, alternating between animalistic growls and muttering the filthiest things you’ve ever heard.

“Ha! You look good on your knees.”

“Fuck– just like that. Good boy.”

“Don’t be shy, sweetheart, I know you can take it all.”

But when he gets close, he quickly devolves into a desperate and whimpering mess. For once, he's not running his mouth. Instead, he’s much more focused on the overwhelming pleasure.

“Please– keep going. I’m so close.”

You can hear soft whines in between the pleading and moaning.

And when he finally cums? He fully snarls out your name.

You get little warning, but the way his entire body tenses and his thighs tremble tells you enough. He completely loses himself when he finishes. Roughly entangling a hand in your hair and fucking your throat to milk himself dry.

Swallowing is the only option when you give him head. And he’ll make sure you don’t waste a single drop. It’s certainly an adjustment at first, his repressed ass cums a lot. (And he somehow always has more to give.)

He’s messy before you even get down to it. Profusely leaking precum even before you touch him. Soaking through his pants and creating a blatantly obvious wet spot across his crotch.

If you don’t realize you've gotten him riled up? Then he’ll help you figure it out. He’s not above humping your leg like a dog and smearing the mess up your thigh.

Or, alternatively. If you’ve been teasing him, knowing damn well he’s been painfully hard for ages now. Then he’s forcing you to your knees and shoving your face into his crotch.

“Look at what you’re doing to me.”

“How about you give me a hand, pretty boy?”

If you play with his slit with your tongue, he’ll end up practically pissing precum while shuddering violently. He’s hella sensitive and goes feral for overstimulation.

Speaking of overstimulation. Keep going after he cums! He fucking loves it and will 100% squirt down your throat.

Heisenberg never expects you to give him head. But damn, is he obsessed with it. He’s obsessed with you, of course. But more than that— getting head makes him feel dominant, powerful, like he owns you.

He’s always down to receive oral anytime and anywhere. While he’s working? He’ll set up a comfortable spot under his desk for you. While he’s sleeping? Go for it! Nothing better than waking up to your warm mouth wrapped around his length.

Maverick p.o.v. 

The first thing I noticed was the cold, sharp in my lungs and biting at my skin. At least it helped me wake up and get my bearings. After I fully came to, I realized I was face down in a snow drift. 

Awesome. 

It didn't seem like I was injured too severely; I didn’t feel my body knitting itself back together. But I was definitely beat to shit at that moment. 

What the fuck happened? 

After groaning and getting to my feet, I dusted myself off and took a better look at my surroundings. Still dark out, but my eyes adjusted quickly. I immediately noticed the transport truck wrecked in front of me. Ah, no wonder I felt like I was just run over, a car crash tends to do that. 

However… Why did we crash? 

The truck was lying on its side. Overturned and at the bottom of a rocky hill. It looked like we were run off the road and then slid over the edge of a steep incline. I must have been knocked around pretty good if I didn’t even remember the impact. 

Everything, as far as I could see, was covered in a thick layer of snow. And every exhale was visible in the crisp air. The winters around here were no joke. However, I couldn’t have imagined the cause of the crash was as simple as an unexpected patch of ice. 

Huh, on second thought, that big ass dent in the grill might have had something to do with it. 

We definitely hadn’t rolled down the hill; the truck would’ve been crumpled if that were the case. No, the points of impact across the grill and hood indicated that something jumped out at us. Unexpected enough to have surprised the driver and with enough force to have sent an armored transport vehicle off the road. 

Whatever hit us had to have been large and remarkably sturdy. I wasn’t familiar enough with the wildlife of Romania to speculate any further than that. But getting hit head-on by an armored transport vehicle is nothing to sneeze at. I would know. 

I racked my brain for more information. The last thing I remembered was dozing off while some BSAA grunts pretended they weren’t itching to put a few rounds in me. Inexperienced and fearful. Not a great combination. 

A lot of good those guns did them; they're all dead now. 

Wait— One, two, three— Where’s the fourth? There were four guards and one driver. I could see the driver bloodied up and slumped over the wheel, likely killed from the impact. And there were three corpses scattered across the ground near the back of the truck. 

For the most part, the three’s injuries looked consistent with a bad car crash. Incidents involving heavy machines were never pretty. But there were claw marks scored into the black paint of the truck. That alone was enough to garner my interest. 

How curious. 

Naturally, I inspected the bodies further. When I crouched down to take a closer look, I noticed something even weirder. Some were sporting bite marks deep enough to have removed chunks of flesh, alongside gashes not unlike the ones in the side of the truck. 

Whatever happened here, it certainly wasn’t much of a fight. It was a slaughter. I was bloody, battered, and unconscious— But my altered biology is likely the only reason I was left alone. I had to assume I appeared as dead as the driver. 

What’s more, I found little evidence of gunfire. The picture this scene painted wasn’t one of an epic battle, but rather of a couple of ill-prepared guards ripped to shreds. And this all must have happened recently; the bodies were still warm. I’d have suspected an ambush if it didn’t look like a pack of wild animals was responsible. 

I reached upwards and stretched, letting out a soft groan at the slight release of tension. Despite my regenerative capabilities, it was taking me way longer to recover than usual. And it was an incredibly rare occurrence for me to have been knocked out like that. 

Something’s wrong… 

Oh, wait– The collar! 

I suddenly became acutely aware of its oppressive weight around my neck. The lack of respect and trust that it signified wasn’t lost on me. 

Power-damping collars. The bane of my fucking existence as of late. Required on most jobs for the sake of those I’ve worked alongside. But then why hire a mutant if not for their superhuman capabilities? Why seek out a wolf and demand the behavior of a dog? 

These collars were marketed as being capable of nullifying mutant powers entirely. Which was, of course, a gross overestimation. In reality, they only blocked mutations up to a certain caliber. And for me? About as useful as a shock collar on a werewolf. I felt the effects, sure. But they were really more a stark reminder of how inhuman I was to them. 

Whatever, it’s not like I needed to wear this anymore. No more humans to appease. No need to keep myself on a short leash. So I reached up and ripped off the collar with ease. Crushing it in my hand before I tossed it aside. 

Good riddance. 

Damn, it’s like I could finally breathe again. Those collars always dulled my senses, which was rather aggravating. Especially considering I could’ve prevented this whole mess from ever happening in the first place. 

Speaking of… Where the hell is the fourth guard? 

I circled the overturned truck, half-heartedly poking through the wreckage along the way. There didn’t seem to be anything of interest. But, after catching sight of a rough trail carved through the snow, I picked up the scent of fresh blood alongside the telltale signs of a body dragged into the woods. 

Well, I didn’t have any better ideas, so of course I followed the trail. Plus, I was awfully curious about the creatures capable of such carnage. 

I stalked through the forest for a bit. My sharp eyes seamlessly adjusted without the light from the transport truck, and my body heated up to fend off the cold. So much so that I caught glimpses of steam rising off of me in my peripheral vision. 

It was kinda nice out there in a way. It wasn’t often that I got to enjoy a simple walk in the woods. I may have been following a corpse drag path through a forest in the dead of winter, but I was still allowed to enjoy the simple pleasures of life. 

Oh no, I take it back. What the fuck is that smell? 

Now that the effects of the collar had worn off, there was a distinct smell that hit me. Like a mix of wet dog and rotting meat. Heightened senses could be more of a curse than a blessing at times. 

That nasty ass smell only got worse as I pushed on. It grew stronger until I found the end of the bloody trail. The fourth guard. 

It was not a pretty sight. There were splatters of blood and scrambling claw marks leading halfway up a rather large tree. And then, there he was, impaled on a broken branch with his guts spilling onto the forest floor. 

Was this a predator dragging away its meal to eat? Or was it a warning?

And it didn’t take long until I saw something even more unnerving further ahead. A bunch of crows strung up in the trees… Some were long dead, but most were definitely fresh. 

What the fuck? Who would do something like this? 

The sight of this stopped me in my tracks, my blood ran cold as my mind raced. Local humans? Or maybe even another bioweapon? Either way, it became increasingly obvious that I wasn’t facing something as simple as a wild animal. 

Now with a sense of apprehension, I continued forward. Every once in a while, I caught the sounds of growling and scrambling in the distance. Animalistic in a way, but those footsteps sounded human. And the scent that grew stronger in the air was nothing I’d ever encountered before. Even though I knew I could, I didn’t rush to try to catch up with whatever was making those sounds. Groundbreaking for me, I know, but I got the feeling I needed to err on the side of caution here. 

The trail continued winding through the forest, and I pressed on with a growing unease. It wasn’t long before I crossed over a small stream and discovered a run-down cabin. I wasn’t quite sure if it was abandoned or not. This place had certainly seen better days. 

Oh, good, a trail of blood leading into the cabin. Let me just walk right in through the unlocked door; surely nothing bad will happen here. This definitely isn’t how people die in horror movies. 

Despite scolding myself internally for walking into a classic trope, I investigated anyway. The cabin certainly appeared lived in, but it's obvious that no one’s there at the moment. I cautiously explored the entire place, but nothing stuck out to me. Just a run-of-the-mill creepy cabin. 

In fact, it was suddenly deafeningly quiet. Which was honestly worse. It’s not until I ventured into the basement that I finally heard something more than my own breathing. 

Just as I reached the far corner of the basement, there was a jarring impact above me. A series of thumps and crashes shook the ceiling as I froze up and readied myself for a fight that never came. Just as abruptly, the cacophony stopped, and I was alone again. 

Okay… I could take a hint. I got the hell out of that cabin. 

When I returned upstairs and maneuvered around the now overturned furniture, I found a massive hole in the wall of the cabin. I was eager to get out of there, so I walked through the newly made exit. Whatever made the hole in the wall seemed to be substantially bigger than I was. Not that I was exactly a big guy, but still. What a comforting observation. 

Wandering past the cabin and through a rather narrow path, I jumped a fence before I reached the edge of a cliff just as the sun started to rise over the mountains.  And the sight before me… Holy shit. It was a scene straight out of a damn book. 

Imposing mountains surrounded a snow-covered valley. And there was a quaint and somewhat Victorian-looking village sprawled across the valley, complete with a beautiful castle. I could also pick out a waterfall, windmills, and a factory in the distance. This place was oddly picturesque in spite of the gruesome trail I followed to get here. It was also suspiciously quiet. With the exception of bells tolling and a small flock of crows flying away as I approached. 

The sight may have been awe-inspiring, but the smell. Gods, the smell. It was as if the very earth the village sits on was rotting. The stench of blood and decay hung heavy in the air, overwhelming my senses. Because of this, I had lost the scent trail of the creatures I was following. 

Damn. 

A glance down revealed a rather inconvenient path into the village, but a pathway nonetheless—a winding dirt trail followed by a steep dropoff down the rest of the hillside. My initial instinct was to just fly down, but I quickly decided against it. I reckoned I should have tried to appear as harmless as possible. Considering my initial impression of the place, I can’t imagine these people would have taken too kindly to a mutant strolling in. If they even knew what that was. 

Oh well, no point in stopping now. So I followed the pathway before I hopped down and, rather ungracefully, slid down the hill, just barely able to maintain my footing. Yeah, that certainly wasn’t pretty. I’m kinda glad no one was around to see that. Not unlike a cat that just fumbled tremendously, I walked away as if nothing had happened. 

Unfortunately for me, I was once again assaulted by a terrible smell. My eyes flicked down to my left, and… 

What the actual fuck?

The corpse of a horse lay right by my feet. How I hadn’t noticed that sooner, I have no idea. I must have been seriously off my game. Because this body was clearly fresh, I could see steam emanating from it as its blood spilled into the mud below. The poor thing looked like it had been slaughtered by the same things that attacked the transport truck. 

There’s something deeply wrong with this place.  

Suddenly, I regretted not grabbing a gun off one of the dead guards. I was reasonably confident in my abilities, but a loaded gun does help put one’s mind at ease. A little late for that thought now. I needed to keep pressing forward. I needed answers. 

My trek into the village continued; it felt desolate. Distinctly lacking in any signs of whoever lived there. Something about this place was setting off alarm bells for me. So, further investigation was required. And quite frankly, a couple of break-ins seemed like the least of this town’s problems. The nearest house to my right seemed like a good starting point. 

A quick survey of my surroundings revealed a dirt road I wish I had seen earlier. A road would have been much preferred over a steep drop down a hillside. 

Aaand I take that back, it looked like there was an old pickup overturned at the edge of the village, perfectly blocking the road. An unfortunate accident caused by someone trying to leave in a panic? Or perhaps a planned roadblock to prevent anyone from leaving? 

It’s obvious something had happened there, and very recently. I just couldn’t quite figure out how intentional this mysterious inciting incident was. 

The house had definitely seen better days, and I could see the front door was open before I even got close enough to knock. Naturally, I gave in to my curiosity and pushed the door open for a peek inside. Goddamn, the place looked ransacked. Even the couch was broken and torn up. Huh, that’s odd. From the looks of the food scattered across the table, I’d wager whoever was here was taken by surprise. 

Once I decided I’d seen enough, I wandered back out and followed what I assumed was the main road deeper into the village. Oh. Decapitated goat heads hung from tree branches… Of course, why not? 

Well, I didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but I think I knew a cult when I saw one. 

I paused at the crossroad for a minute. Looking over the signs and debating just how much further I was willing to explore. When my keen hearing picked up something off to my left. Something like… growling? It’s soft but unmistakable. So I whipped around, tense and intently searching for whatever was making that inhuman noise. It can’t have been a dog; that sound wasn’t quite right for someone’s pet. 

But… Surely there couldn’t have been an outbreak here… Right? 

I haven’t had much firsthand experience with any of the viruses or parasites, and I’d rather keep it that way. Hypocritical coming from a bioweapon, I know. But the origin of my mutation was a bit of a mystery. So, through the power of blissful ignorance, I was not infected with anything. 

Quite frankly, some things are best left unanswered. 

My gaze snapped to one thing that stood out in the bleak townscape. A single lit brazier hung outside a house just a ways down the road. The first sign of life I’d seen thus far. Bypassing my usual aversion to human interaction, I decided to head over to the house. 

As I got closer, the faint growling grew louder. Likely imperceptible to humans at first, but it was plenty obvious now. Suddenly, my breath hitched, and there was a cold chill up my spine. 

That happened on occasion. As if my senses caught on to something before I could fully process what had happened. 

There was a series of gunshots that rang out just as I reached the front door. So I immediately ducked for cover and moved away from the doorway. But whoever was inside was either a terrible shot or not aiming for me. Because I knew a shotgun when I heard one, and it's pretty damn hard to miss in such close quarters. 

It was unnervingly quiet for a moment before a sudden crash, followed by frenzied snarling and the screams of the man inside ripped through the air. Ah, fuck it, I’m in this deep. Steeling my resolve, I kicked down the door and rushed into the house without hesitation. I then dashed into the next room just in time to see the clawed hands that dragged an old man into a hole in the ceiling. 

“Oh shit.” 

There was barely time for me to speak before his screams were cut short and his blood poured down from the ceiling, splattering at my feet. Fuck. I didn’t move fast enough. I couldn’t save him. But… Save him from what? 

My thoughts were cut short by a clawed hand bursting through the floorboards, gripping my ankle, and yanking me through the floor. The only sound I managed to make in response was a startled yelp. Very heroic, I know. 

I abruptly found myself on the very cold, hard ground. Fortunately, my eyes adjusted quickly to the sudden darkness. Unfortunately, I saw that I was surrounded by dead bodies. Many of these corpses looked fresh. Not yet showing signs of bloating or decay, but the cold could’ve slowed that process. 

I couldn’t immediately find the thing that dragged me down here, though. I suppose being surrounded by corpses would’ve masked its scent. 

Pushing onward and maneuvering around the bodies, I rounded a bend and finally got a good look at it. The creature. It was humanoid, but clearly lacking any semblance of the person it used to be. It was hunched over and ripping into a body like a rabid animal. And the sounds it was making. Wolf-like in a way, but also akin to infected variants I’ve encountered. 

Ah, fuck me. 

That means this thing was definitely an infected variant. I was shocked it hadn’t clicked for me immediately. It would have certainly explained the dead soldiers and the post-apocalyptic vibe of the village. 

Oh, perfect. The infected variant just snapped up from its meal and was staring into my fucking soul. But this time, when it lunged at me, I was ready. 

It jumped at me, claws outstretched and teeth gnashing. 

Ugh, it’s even uglier up close. 

Granted, it was stronger than I expected. More so than the average man. And even when I grabbed it by the throat to prevent a rather nasty bite, the force with which it moved threw both of us back through a wall and out into the open. 

I ended up landing on my back, and the impact knocked the wind out of me. Letting out a strangled sort of gasp, I barely managed to throw the creature off of me. But I did get a twist of sick satisfaction when I heard a crack of bones breaking as it hit the ground, somehow even less gracefully than I had. 

We scrambled to our feet and faced each other. Loosely circling the clearing, both crouched and were ready to spring into action again. I waited for the infected variant to make the first move. 

The second that thing took a half-step forward, I retaliated. I moved much faster this time. I didn’t take any chances. And I threw a punch right at its sternum. Putting force behind the blow that I knew would’ve totaled a car. Excessive? Maybe. But you couldn’t argue with the results. 

As expected, my fist went straight through it in a bloody explosion. And it emitted one last yelp-like screech before going limp. 

“Good riddance.”

My tone was nothing short of outright contempt as I flung its body aside. 

But then— What the hell? What’s happening to its body? 

I watched in a stunned silence as the corpse rapidly disintegrated, in a way. Eventually leaving behind nothing but a crystallized skull. 

Once I was no longer frozen from the shock, I cautiously approached the skull to investigate. Nothing bad happened when I picked it up, so I guess it was harmless. However… that was so fucking weird. And that’s saying a lot. I could literally regenerate limbs and create fire from my hands. 

Upon further inspection, the skull seemed pretty unremarkable, all things considered. It was humanoid for sure, with the addition of canine-esque teeth. And the crystallization immediately upon death was a new one to me. Really, I was more curious as to why it was the only thing left behind. Like some sort of trophy for my kill. 

No use in dwelling on this any longer. It’s not like I was trying to write a research paper. So I simply banished the skull to my pocket dimension for safekeeping. Don’t ask how; it was just an instinctual sort of thing. 

Now that I knew there was some sort of infection spreading through this village, I needed to treat this situation a little differently. I needed information and supplies. So, after checking the area for more infected variants, I started looking for anything I could use. Weapons, ammo, and whatever else I could find. 

I reentered the house and managed to find several useful items. The LEMI semi-automatic pistol was one of them. It was small and not particularly powerful, but hey, a gun is a gun. I also picked up a hunting knife and a bottle of something supposedly medicinal, if I was reading the bottle right. And then, in the other building just outside, I snagged some crafting materials as well. 

I was skeptical initially. The green glass bottle with a worn label and a vaguely herbal, alcohol-based scent did not instill me with confidence. But, regardless, I pocketed it. 

Hoarding can’t possibly be a bad idea in an apocalyptic-adjacent environment. 

Then, I created a holster on my belt for the knife and one on my thigh for the pistol. 

Rudimentary crafting was a skill I had learned recently. With my limited shapeshifting capabilities, I seemed able to create simple items I was familiar with. An exciting discovery at the time, but it turned out to be a rather exhausting process. In retrospect, maybe this wasn’t the best use of my limited resources. 

Venturing back outside, I realized I was fenced in. And the only way out was a gate closed with a chain. 

A locked gate? Too easy. What kind of mutant merc would I be if I couldn’t get around a locked gate? 

With practised ease, I extended my hand and exhaled slowly, channeling thermal energy through my fingers without sparking a flame. Once my hand was sufficiently charged up, I heated the metal until I could snap the chain with little effort.