|| RP writer, opening scenes, characters description and everything detailed. ||
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Ig: Seliey_xx
tt: creepypasta_rawr
The conference room was unusually quiet. Price stood at the head of the table while Soap, Gaz, Ghost, Alejandro, Roach, Rudy, and Laswell waited, curiosity written across most of their faces. Price set a classified file on the table. "Listen up." The room fell silent. "Starting today, Task Force 141 has a new recruit." Soap leaned back with a grin. "Didn't know we were hiring." "They're not an ordinary recruit," Price replied. "They've been under observation for months. Outstanding combat skills, survival training, and a record that speaks for itself." Laswell nodded. "Most of their file remains classified. You'll receive the necessary information later." Rudy folded his arms. "If they're joining us, they've earned it." Ghost remained silent, watching the file instead of the others. Alejandro smirked. "Hope they can keep up." Price closed the folder with a firm thud. "I expect everyone to treat them as part of this team from the moment they walk through that door. No assumptions. They'll prove themselves soon enough." Almost on cue, a knock echoed through the room. Every head turned toward the entrance. Price glanced at the door before speaking. "Come in." The handle slowly turned..
The call came at 2:17 a.m. An unknown number. Half-asleep, you answered. "{y/n}?" {y/n}: "Yes..." Price: "This is Captain John Price, British Special Forces. I'm calling regarding Lieutenant Simon 'Ghost' Riley." Your heart stopped. {y/n} "Is he... okay?" Price: "He's stable. Injured during an operation. He requested you specifically. You're still listed as his emergency contact." That couldn't be right. You hadn't spoken in years. Simon had disappeared into the military, his calls fading into silence... yet he'd never removed your name. Memories crashed over you—Simon climbing through your bedroom window after bad nights, sitting beside you on rooftops in silence, laughing after a snowball fight. Back then, it had always been you and him against the world. By dawn, you stood outside his hospital room. A man with a mohawk stepped aside. Soap: "He wouldn't stop asking for you." The door opened. There he was. Older. Broader. Bruised, his arm wrapped in bandages, the familiar skull mask hiding his face. He looked up. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Recognition hit instantly, as if the years between you had vanished. His fingers twitched against the sheets—a nervous habit you still remembered. "Simon..." you whispered. At his real name, his posture stiffened, not in rejection, but as though he needed to know you were real. Ghost: "{y/n}..." His voice was deeper than you remembered, relief unmistakable in his eyes.
Morning sunlight stretched across Berk as dragons circled high above the village, their calls echoing between the cliffs. Near the training arena, Hiccup adjusted Toothless' new tail fin while the Night Fury nudged him impatiently, eager to fly. Astrid leaned against Stormfly with crossed arms, watching with an amused smile. "Hiccup, if you tweak that thing any longer, Toothless is going to take off without you." Across the yard, Snotlout loudly insisted Hookfang had won yesterday's race, despite everyone remembering otherwise. "I would've won by miles if Hookfang hadn't decided to chase sheep!" Fishlegs sighed, gently scratching Meatlug beneath her chin. "Actually... according to my notes, Toothless finished thirty-seven seconds ahead." Nearby, Ruffnut and Tuffnut were arguing over whose turn it was to steer Barf and Belch. The two-headed Zippleback looked just as confused as its riders. "I steer!" "No, I steer!" Before the argument could grow louder, Stoick's booming voice echoed across the village. "Dragon Riders!" Every conversation stopped. Stoick stood at the top of the wooden stairs beside Skullcrusher, his expression calm but serious. "I've received reports of unusual dragon activity beyond Berk's western waters. Whether it's a new nest... or something else... we're going to investigate." The riders exchanged curious glances before hurrying toward their dragons, unaware that the journey ahead was about to change far more than they expected.
The low rumble of motorcycle engines echoed through the nearly empty gas station as five riders gathered beside their bikes. Ryan leaned against his motorcycle with his arms crossed, silently watching the entrance. Enzo spun a key around his finger impatiently. "She's late." "Three minutes isn't late," Lyle replied calmly, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve. Axel grinned. "You checked the time twice already." Lyle: "I did not." Axel: "You literally did." Justine sighed, resting against his bike. "Can we go one day without arguing?" Before anyone could answer, the sound of another engine filled the gas station parking lot. All five heads turned.
John aimed his rifle slowly to your head, hands shaking but his expression firm. *“I’m sorry, baby…”* He whispered under his breath as he pulled the gun hammer back with a *click*. He was preparing to fire… but he just couldn’t kill his own ***child***, even when they were an infected zombie now… He simply kneeled down and let you limp up to him, allowing you to bite his arm as he hugged your frail body with tears streaming down his face.
In Octavia's perspective, it was a shitty day, today too. Octavia groaned to herself, she woke up with a raging headache this morning and now had to go to another party because her mother "Felt like it".. of course the party was planned by Stella and had invited various of her friends and barely any family. The party was going to be at night. Stella forced Octavia to wear something shinny, elegant dress for tonight party. When the party began, Octavia stayed in the darkest corner trying not to bring attention to herself just wishing she was at home instead. Suddenly Octavia saw someone same as her, pulling away from the crowd and being alone in a darker corner.
The morning sun bathed the Pride Lands in warm golden light as the pride slowly began another peaceful day. While most of the lions remained occupied with their usual routines, Simba had quietly slipped away without anyone noticing. Determined to prove he was becoming a great hunter, the young cub padded through the tall grass, carefully stalking a small rabbit that had caught his attention. His ears flattened, his tail twitched, and with an excited pounce he gave chase. The rabbit darted through the grass, weaving around bushes and over rocks, and Simba eagerly followed, too focused on his "hunt" to realize he had wandered far beyond the familiar borders of the Pride Lands. Moments later, the rabbit disappeared beneath a cluster of bushes before sprinting toward a large tree standing alone in the distance. Beneath its shade rested a smooth stone, and stretched across it lay a lion cub unlike any Simba had ever seen. She belonged to another clan. The rabbit hurried past her without hesitation. Simba slowed to a stop several paces away, catching his breath as curiosity quickly replaced the excitement of the chase. His amber eyes studied the unfamiliar cub cautiously. He had never seen another lion from beyond the Pride Lands before. For a long moment, the world fell quiet except for the gentle breeze rustling the leaves overhead as Simba slowly stepped closer.
Cold air. Too clean. Too controlled. You wake up—sitting on a smooth, 4 floored bed, above you another and then another... Inside a massive room that looks like a prison waiting room. White walls with strange black paintings on the walls, soft lighting… but it doesn’t feel safe. It feels staged. Around you, people start moving. Shifting. Groaning. Panicked whispers. Some clutch their heads. Some immediately check their pockets. Some just stare forward like they already regret everything. You’re not alone. Dozens… no—hundreds of players sit in identical green tracksuits, each with a number stamped somewhere on them. You don’t remember putting it on. You don’t remember arriving. You just… are there. A loud chime echoes through the hall. Instant silence. Every head turns toward the giant screen at the far end of the room. Static flickers. Showing: 456 players in the room. Then a voice. Calm. Polite. “Welcome, players.” “You are now part of the game.” Murmurs explode instantly—panic, confusion, anger. “Rules will be explained shortly. Cooperation is allowed. Survival is… encouraged.” Somewhere behind you, someone starts crying. Someone else is already backing away from everyone else like trust itself is dangerous. People began to team up with others and ect.. Gi-hun was already trying to gather as much people as possible.
They'd been chasing one name for months—{y/n}. Every lead ended the same way: their target already dead. By the time Task Force 141 arrived, the job was finished, cleaner and faster than anyone expected. Even Ghost had to admit whoever this assassin was, they were frighteningly efficient. {y/n} was infamous for taking contracts on the world's worst criminals. The money mattered, but so did the outcome. Working alone had always been easier. Then came Makarov. Before Task Force 141 could reach him, {y/n} had already stormed the compound. Makarov died from a single shot to the head, his men left scattered through blood-soaked corridors. It would've been the perfect mission... if a torn patch from {y/n} vest hadn't been left behind. Now, after being ambushed, sedated, and hauled to a Task Force holding facility, {y/n} sat restrained in an interrogation room. Price stood across the table while Ghost remained silent against the wall, arms folded. Behind the two-way mirror, Soap and Gaz watched every movement. Price broke the silence. "{y/n}. That's what they call you?" No answer. "You took down Makarov before we could. That's not luck—that's skill." Ghost finally spoke, his voice flat. "We're giving you one chance. Work with us." Price glanced at him before continuing. "Or we hand you over. With your record, you'll spend the rest of your life behind bars. Your choice."
The morning sun stretched across the Pride Lands as the Lion Guard followed a trail of frightened gazelles. Reports had spread quickly—a group of rogue predators had been terrorizing anyone who crossed their path. "We're close," Kion said, sniffing the air. Fuli raced ahead before stopping on a rocky ledge. "Guys... you're gonna want to see this." The Guard hurried over. Below them, the battle was already over. The rogues lay scattered across the ground, some unconscious, others too frightened to move. Deep claw marks scored the earth, and broken branches littered the clearing, evidence of a fierce fight. "...We were too late?" Beshte asked in confusion. "No," Ono muttered, scanning the area. "Someone else got here first." A faint rustle echoed from the trees. Every head snapped toward the sound. For a brief moment, a lone figure stood among the shadows, watching them in complete silence. Before anyone could speak, the mysterious stranger turned and disappeared into the forest as quickly as they had appeared. Fuli narrowed her eyes. "Whoever that was... they're fast." Kion stared into the trees, his curiosity growing. "Come on," he said. "Let's find out who just completed our mission."
The cargo ramp of the transport plane lowered with a metallic groan as Task Force 141 stepped onto the runway after another successful mission. Price led the way, followed by Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Rudy, Alejandro... and one more member of the team. {y/n}. A highly trained military working dog, trusted with the same missions as the rest of the Task Force. Explosives detection, tracking, search and rescue, suspect apprehension—there wasn't a job {y/n} hadn't proven capable of handling. Every member of 141 had learned to trust their four-legged teammate with their lives. Soap crouched with a grin as {y/n} trotted over. "There they are. Knew you'd be the first off the plane." Ghost glanced down, giving the dog a brief pat on the shoulder before returning to his usual stoic expression. "Good work." Price noticed the interaction and let out a quiet chuckle. "Enough," he said. "We've got another briefing in ten." Gaz opened the door to the briefing room, holding it open as {y/n} padded inside ahead of everyone else. A large tactical map filled the wall while Laswell waited beside it, a folder tucked under her arm. "Glad everyone's here," she said. "Including our best tracker." Price rested a hand on the table. "Alright, listen up. We've got a hostage situation near the border. Tight terrain, poor visibility, and a target that's been staying one step ahead of us." His eyes shifted to {y/n}. "That's where you come in."
The low rumble of motorcycle engines echoed through the nearly empty gas station as four riders gathered beside their bikes. Caesar leaned against his motorcycle with his arms crossed, silently watching the entrance. Sebastian spun a key around his finger impatiently. "She's late." "Three minutes isn't late," Caesar replied calmly, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve. Raymond grinned. "You checked the time twice already." Sebastian: "I did not." Caesar: "You literally did." Zyan sighed, resting against his bike. "Can we go one day without arguing?" Before anyone could answer, the sound of another engine filled the gas station parking lot. All four heads turned.
The classroom buzzed with conversation as students waited for their new history teacher. Rumors had spread all week—he had transferred from France, but no one knew much else. The chatter faded as the door opened. A tall man in his mid-thirties stepped inside. He wears a sharp corporate look with a modern silhouette. It consists of a crisp deep navy blue button-up and rolled up sleeve with high-waisted black wide-leg pleated trousers. It is accessorized with a classic black leather belt with a silver buckle shiny black leather 0xford dress shoes and a refined silver chain watch with a white dial. "Good morning." His voice was smooth, carrying a gentle French accent. "My name is Monsieur Laurent. I am thirty-four years old, and from today onward, I shall be your history teacher." He folded his hands behind his back, his posture straight and composed. "I expect respect, punctuality, and effort from each of you. History is more than dates—it is the story of mankind. If you are willing to learn, I will gladly help you succeed." His expression hardened slightly. "However, I do not tolerate disruptions, laziness, or disrespect. Those who choose to disturb my lessons will quickly discover I am not a patient man." Silence settled over the classroom. A faint, polite smile returned to his face. "Now then... let us begin by introducing ourselves."
The rain fell softly over Forks, covering the familiar roads in a grey mist. After years away, Clay finally returned to the town he once called home. The cold air, the endless forests, the quiet street. Everything carried memories he had tried to leave behind. Now, with {y/n} beside him, he had no choice but to return. Their new house stood surrounded by tall trees, quiet and almost untouched. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a place to begin again. While Clay carried boxes inside, {y/n}unpacked their belongings, slowly turning the unfamiliar house into something that could feel like home. Clay watched {y/n} for a moment, a small smile appearing on his face. She had grown so much. But he still remembered the little girl who left Forks years ago, after losing the person they both loved most. Her mother. Not far away, an old truck slowly moved through the rain. Jacob Black sat behind the wheel while Billy watched the road ahead. “They’re really back,” Jacob said quietly. Billy nodded. “She was just a kid when she left.” Jacob looked out the window, remembering the childhood friend he hadn’t seen in years. The girl who used to explore the forests with him... The girl who disappeared... “Wonder if she remembers us,” Jacob muttered. Billy gave a small smile. “Some memories don’t disappear that easily.” The truck turned onto the street. And as they approached the house, Jacob saw someone outside carrying a box. Someone familiar. Someone he never expected to see again.
The city never truly slept. Even long after sunset, the streets buzzed with flashing lights, distant sirens, and the endless rhythm of New York. High above the traffic, a familiar figure swung effortlessly between skyscrapers. Spider-Man. Peter Parker had already stopped a convenience store robbery, rescued a cat from a fire escape, and prevented a reckless driver from causing a pileup—all before midnight. Peter Parker (Spider-Man):"Okay... maybe the universe can chill for five minutes," he muttered beneath his mask, firing another web. As if on cue, an explosion echoed a few blocks away. Peter Parker (Spider-Man):"Oh, you've got to be kidding me." He shot toward the smoke, expecting another routine disaster. But before he could reach it, something streaked across the skyline. Not a bird. Not a drone. A person. The mysterious figure swung through the city with incredible speed, moving with confidence as they landed between Spider-Man and the chaos unfolding below. Their suit was unlike anything Peter had seen before. Spider-Man skidded to a stop on the side of a nearby building, tilting his head. Peter Parker (Spider-Man):"...Uh... okay. Either I missed an Avengers group chat... or New York just got another superhero." The stranger remained silent, eyes fixed on the danger ahead. Peter let out a nervous laugh. Peter Parker (Spider-Man): "So... friend? Please say friend."