#codrp

﹙⠀DEVOUTFU1⠀﹚⠀⠀ PEYTON PALMER multifandom ORIGINAL CHARACTER , default verse based within A SONG OF ICE &. FIRE ⠀⠀ ︵⠀⠀⊹ ⠀⠀ ♯ ⋮ how can you see what your life is worth or where your value lies ? you can never see through the eyes of man , you must look at your life look at your life through heaven's eyes .ᐟ ༉

keep your head on a swivel - take 'em dead or alive ... you know my preference. ♠ #F1LLGRAVES

BIOGRAPHICAL INFORMATION.

name: "Lycan"

nicknames: ذئب (by Farah Karim); Perra (by Valeria Garza).

species: lycanthrope.

rank: sergeant.

age: thirty.

occupation: SOF (Special Operations Force) K-9 OPERATOR / MPC (Multi-Purpose Canine) and CAD (Combat Assault Dog) OPERATOR.

build: tall (180cm) and toned.

eyes: amber (orange/yellow) eyes.

hair: long brown hair.

faceclaim: Lara Croft.

"Find the location in the message Ghost sent you..."

These few words played over and over in his mind as if they were drawing him, speaking to him in a way that he only knew. This was a direct order and he was going to execute it on Ghost's authority.

The four engines of the Lockheed C-130 roared over the skies of Verdansk, a major city in Kastovia, located in the Caucasus Region boarding the Russian Federation to the north and Georgia to the West. In salute to the bonny blue sky, the now once thriving economy, laid waste to a recumbent serenity, midst the chaos. A former Soviet Republic which became independent after the dissolution of the Soviet Union and post-Cold War, the West and Russia worked together to rebuild the city, only for it to fall to the hands of terrorists.

Once stood, now the abandoned city created a form of poetry from the passing wind. In whistles and sighs, in roars and silence, in war and peace. It was both lyric and song. Soaked in the moment, alongside the rising light had come the most buoyant of birdsong encores. Since 2019, hell in Verdansk appeared in the most poignant of places. Fighting had become a lost cause and mercy no longer an option, when the presence of chemical weapons changed everything. Destined for Urzkistan, the deport of the chemical weapons was stopped by the CIA with help from US Marines only too be stolen by a group of insurgents working for the well known terrorist organisation in the area going by the name Al-Qatala.

Led by Khaled Al-Asad and supplied by Victor Zahhaev, eventually, by the start of 2020, Al-Qatala launched a full-scale assault against Verdansk, bringing it to a standstill, its own military forces became quickly overwhelmed to deal with the impact and declared a state of emergency. Two major fractions, with various military personnel grades and expertise known as Coalition and Allegiance were sent to fight the terror units after the failed Russian attempt to protect Kastovia boarders and repel the invasion. The two groups turned on one another as weaknesses and gaps in the chains of commands were exploited to the point where it was difficult to know whether the comrade at arms was in fact an undercover spy.

Operator AO109C entered a long-term contract with Chimera, a sub fraction of Allegiance where he had already done around two years of active service before problems in Verdansk aroused. Exactly what his call sign stood for Allegiance Operator 109 Chimera.

"Find the location in the message Ghost sent you..."

He felt his stomach turn over has the plane hit a strong wind current that pushed and pulled at the outside of the turboprop military transporter. The C-130 used unprepared runways for take-offs and landing so carrying personnel, paratroopers and cargo through many environmental stresses was not going to slow it down. The plane protested against the wind, but the noises and the movement usually would not make any difference to him. He was slowly coming around from being knocked out.

"What if he doesn't wake up?"

"He'll have a hard landing then..."

"You say that about everyone. This man is important... You heard what they said, make sure he hits the ground running not dead."

He was not sure how long he had been unconscious for before getting to this moment. He was disorientated and blinded back a thunderstorm swarming in his mind. The last thing he remembered was fighting for survival and now, he had been loaded onto a back of a C-130 which was already in flight at the standard altitude of twelve thousand feet at least. The craft was heavy, seven thousand gallons of fuel in six integral wing tanks. It needed to reach speeds of around eighty miles per hour on an airfield around 610m long and they were expensive to run. Running this craft to transport only him showed that the people behind the Gulag operations and this shit show in Verdansk were powerful.

Maybe cracking a deal with them would not be such bad idea after all.

“Ready! Breach!” The battering ram slammed against the door, causing it to splinter open, wood parting in different directions. Locating Makarov's cabin hadn't been an easy task, yet getting into it was strangely easy. Way too easy as one might say. The first to enter was Captain John Price, beaming his flashlight around, taking note of miscellaneous things—shoes by the front door, photo of a dog on a table by the entrance and coats on the rack.

It was lived in as if a war hadn't been going on. Heavy boots made the wooden floorboards creak beneath their weight, Price continued to survey the area, listening for threats, but only hearing the settling of wood, mice crawling through pipes and the gentle breeze outside. The occupants were either stupid or had abandoned the safehouse before they—being the 1-4-1—arrived. It was hard to tell. “Clear the first deck before we advance to the second deck.” Price's orders were clear and direct.

Soldiers beamed flashlights around, checking the living room for any intel if they were lucky enough to stumble upon it. So far, they only found a cluttered living room with a live communications system set up by a pillar, a fireplace with wood still smoldering as if a fire had been lit not long ago, but the most disgusting discovery? There were photos taped to a brick wall with names, dates and locations. Some of those photos were of Price and his soldiers, which caused him to feel nauseous. Was this what Makarov spent his free time doing? Spying on them?

“What the bloody hell?” As far as Price knew, Makarov wasn't there. The latest intel suggested he was in Verdansk, which left his safehouse unguarded. Price took a couple of steps back, until his body impacted a table, causing some items to fall off. The noise was loud, a few sharp thuds against the wooden floor. Someone overheard, turning on a light and moving into the hallway with delicate footsteps. First a yawn, then a voice. “Иван! Там внизу всё в порядке?” A female asked, so unding groggy, exhausted with the shadow of sleep still looming. (Ivan, is everything okay down there?)

No one moved a muscle. “Female, unknown on the second deck. Move to detain. Flashlights off now.” Price ordered quietly and everyone turned their flashlights off. When the woman didn’t hear a response, she reluctantly moved toward the staircase, moonlight shining through the windows caused Price’s form to cast a shadow onto the floor. “Иван? Что ты делаешь в темноте? Ты меня пугаешь.” She asked as she walked down the staircase slowly, hand clinging to the railing as her heart started to thump against her chest. Again no response. “Иван? Привет?” (Ivan? What are you doing in the dark? You're scaring me. Ivan? Hello?)

At the bottom of the staircase, Ghost waited and as soon as the woman’s feet touched the floor, he moved, knocking her out.

Back at the base, the woman had been taken into a room for questioning, where she regained consciousness. She was sitting on a chair, handcuffed to a table that sat in the middle of the bare room, a fluorescent light overhead. Her head was throbbing from where she’d been hit, a nasty bruise forming, cold metal against her skin waking her up immediately. She was still in her pajamas—a green sweater-like shirt and sweatpants. In front of her, another person sat, idly tapping fingers against the metal table. “It’s about time you woke up. Who are you? And why were you in Vladimir Makarov's safehouse?"

I did a thing. HOLD ME TO IT!