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imjustsocute · 18 days ago

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The Claw is where the strong gather…

CLASSIFIED INTELLIGENCE REPORT Agency: [REDACTED] Clearance Level: TOP SECRET Subject: Operational Assessment – The Claw Date: [REDACTED] Compiled by: [REDACTED] Distribution: Eyes Only – Tier 1 Command, Allied Intelligence Liaison

Executive Summary:

The Claw is a rogue paramilitary organization operating beyond the bounds of legal and state-controlled frameworks. Comprised primarily of former military operatives, the group has demonstrated capabilities consistent with Tier 1 special operations units. Their strategic pattern of engagement, combined with their disregard for international law, classifies them as a high-risk transnational threat.

Background:

The organization draws its members from individuals who have been abandoned or exiled by their respective governments. Many are combat veterans with extensive experience in classified and high-risk operations. Disillusioned and discarded, some have since been flagged as threats to state security.

The group's origins remain unclear, but the presence of former operatives from NATO, Warsaw Pact nations, and non-state actors suggests a broad, decentralized recruitment model. One of the group's senior figures, known by the alias Markov, is confirmed to be a defector formerly affiliated with the KGB.

Operational Profile:

Structure: Non-hierarchical cell-based units

Tactics: High-speed raids, direct action, sabotage, black-market contracting

Known Activities:

Contracted operations for private clients and non-state actors

Targeted raids on enemy strongholds, weapons caches, and covert installations

Engagements involving acts of piracy, smuggling, and tactical robbery when resources are low

The Claws exhibit strategic flexibility—shifting from high-level mercenary work to resource-based criminal activity without loss of cohesion or discipline.

Impact Assessment:

Since its emergence, The Claw has conducted high-value attacks against assets belonging to the CIA, MI6, and the FSB (formerly KGB). Their operations have resulted in significant personnel loss, data compromise, and mission disruption.

Field agents engaging with this group are advised to proceed under strict containment protocols. Hostile contact should be treated as black-level engagement: no quarter expected, none given.

Recommendations:

Elevate threat designation to Priority Black – Tier 1

Initiate joint tracking operation with Allied Counter-Insurgency Units

Classify The Claw as a Non-State Hostile Force (NSHF)

Restrict dissemination of intelligence beyond Tier 1 Command

END OF REPORT CLASSIFIED – DO NOT DUPLICATE

"Remember, kid, the strong survive, and the weak perish. There is no room for mercy in this world."

CONFIDENTIAL DOSSIER – EYES ONLY INTELLIGENCE OPERATIONS DIVISION FILE No. 4267-A / CLASSIFIED SUBJECT: YURI MARKOV DATE: June 3, 1964 ORIGIN: Berlin Station / Field Unit 4 SECURITY RATING: LEVEL BLACK – PRIORITY SUBJECT

SUBJECT PROFILE:

Yuri Markov is a former Major in the Red Army and an ex-agent of the KGB, formerly attached to operations in Eastern Europe and Central Asia. Known for exceptional tactical acumen and advanced psychological manipulation techniques. The subject exhibited strong ideological alignment during early service years, but appears to have become disillusioned following internal purges and ideological realignments post-1956.

BEHAVIORAL SHIFT / DEFECTION RISK:

Signals intelligence from intercepted field transmissions in Prague and Odessa suggest Subject severed ties with all former chains of command as early as late 1960. Further reports indicate possible mental destabilization due to operational overexposure and the loss of ideological clarity. Markov has since re-emerged as the founder of an independent paramilitary faction known as “The Claw”.

GROUP OVERVIEW – “THE CLAW”:

An unaligned mercenary outfit operating outside state control. Intelligence assessments suggest the group consists primarily of:

Former Warsaw Pact operatives

Expelled military specialists

Political dissidents and rogue elements

Modus Operandi:

High-speed raids

Arms theft

Strategic sabotage

Contracted eliminations

The group answers to no flag, ideology, or doctrine beyond personal gain and operational dominance.

SECURITY BREACHES / THREAT ASSESSMENT:

As of Q2 1964, confirmed involvement of The Claw in:

The raid on Safehouse Echo (MI6, Vienna)

Disruption of CIA asset extraction near Budapest

Interception of coded dispatch intended for French SDECE

Subject Markov is considered HIGHLY DANGEROUS. He operates with absolute autonomy and demonstrates military-level discipline within his ranks. He has no known family, no state allegiance, and is driven solely by control and survival.

ACTIONABLE DIRECTIVES:

Subject is to be tracked under OPERATION BLACK WOLF

Immediate escalation to INTERAGENCY PRIORITY LEVEL

Field operatives are NOT to engage without command approval

If contact occurs, the Subject is to be neutralized or rendered for extraction

FILE END TOP SECRET – DESTROY AFTER READING STAMP: [REDACTED / COLD WAR OPERATIONS UNIT – EASTERN BLOCK MONITORING]

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lucy-stone · 1 month ago

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hi internet- im shy but here's some old cod ocs i might return to + the captain himself in his silly hats

#cod ocs #call of duty #captain john price #oc #original character #art

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carbondioxda · 5 months ago

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It’s unfair that the Task Force 141 should be called The Beauty Force 141. Like fuck you mean every single one of them is as handsome as realistically possible. Not just the game models, the actors too. How am I supposed to shoot enemies in the game when there’s a literal supermodel of them is gazing into my eyes and seducing me whatttefuck.

Military propaganda worked tbh.

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worms-for-brains · 1 year ago

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EVERYONE PLEASE LOOK AT MY WIFE BOUDICCA.

#call of duty #call of duty mw3 #cod #call of duty modern warfare #cod mw3 #cod ocs #art

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callmelitlesunshine · 3 months ago

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can we stay like this forever?

Adler x fem!Bell

warnings: OOC, soft?Russell Adler, english is not native language of author

🎵 nessen - can we stay like this forever?

Bell felt anxiety inside, which manifested itself as some kind of burning in the area of the ribs, somewhere between it. Like a lump devouring her, and it could not go away for a long time — ever since she and Adler became especially close. She knew that this could not continue, because they were both CIA agents, and what usually happens in such cases? One of them would obviously be written off as unnecessary, if not both, because they had chosen to break these rules together. But Adler was the first to break them when he decided to leave Bell alive on that very rock on Solovetsky. But she just wanted to live, and he contributed to this, finding his own benefit. Bell was so worried that it simply pulled her out of a sleep that seemed eternal. She often dreamed about something, something from the past — her family, her grandmother, the time spent at the academy and those few shots Arash had fired right at her on the runway in Trabzon. Can't forget such things. Especially after the MK-Ultra cleanse, when the memories of the past life of a certain Ekaterina Burova gradually returned to her consciousness. She remembered everything as if it were yesterday. A heavy sigh followed after Bell blinked several times, as if she couldn't believe that she had managed to wake up. She felt a slight cold right on her shoulders and it sobered her up, finally bringing her out of her sleepy state. The blanket rustled, Bell sat up and turned her head — Adler was not in bed, but he was still here — leisurely smoking a cigarette, having opened the door to their shared terrace. He often did this, because he was haunted by his own nightmares. And it was not the first time Bell had found him like this. Pensive, taking a drag on another cigarette, lit only to try to drown out everything that was scratching at her from within. But she, like Adler, knew that this was forever. With both of them. And all that was left was to learn to live with it. Bell carefully got out of bed and the springs creaked, but this did not attract the man's attention at all. It was as if he was somewhere far away, in his thoughts, trying to figure out what was happening and analyze everything that was happening between him and the woman he wanted to take her life a few years ago. Everything was different now. But he could not have imagined that everything would be exactly like this. Bell grabbed Adler's sweater, which was lying on the edge of the bed, and quickly pulled it on. She had never liked the morning cold, and she preferred to surround herself with warmth. Only her touch on his hand brought Adler out of the abyss of thoughts. — How are you? — Bell asked almost in a whisper. After another drag, he answered:

— Good. — She knows it's not true, but he won't admit it. Bell understands everything, but doesn't want to pry him with questions, especially now. Adler looks at her out of the corner of his eye and notices confusion and that same anxiety on the woman's face. She bites her lips, her gaze darts slightly, she wants to say something, but can't. Over the years, he has studied her inside and out, her behavior, facial expressions and gestures, and now he reads her like a book. He knows what needs to be done. At least now. Bell is standing so close that Adler can put his hand on her shoulder. And he does it, pulling the woman towards him, it was easy, because she reached out on her own. With a movement of his hands, he turned her back to him, and the pleasant fabric of the sweater touched his body. The man felt Bell tremble — either from that same anxiety written on her face, or from the morning cold, which (even though she was wearing a sweater) hit her bare legs. He knew for sure that it was the first one.

Internal trembling prevented Bell from thinking clearly and daytime thoughts returned to her head — what will happen next and how far will it all go?

Only a strong drag helped to drown out these thoughts for a very short time — Adler carefully offered her a cigarette, which he had been smoking for a short time and Bell accepted it with pleasure. She exhaled acrid smoke and leaned her head back on his shoulder, closing her eyes. Only for a moment, but she felt how the trembling and anxiety retreated, especially when Adler hugged her with a strong arm. When he is near, when he can just hug her for no reason, when they smoke and share it with each other, when he easily smiles at her — each such moment, calming Bell, she values the most.

— I want this moment to last forever. — Bell says again in a half-whisper. Adler slowly kisses her temple. — Me too, sweetheart. — He understands perfectly what she is talking about. Because he feels the same.

At least for a moment.

_____________________

SOOOOOOO I'm so happy i finished this and can share with y'all!! My renders was heavily inspired by the movie Havana (1990) with Robert Redford and especially inspired by this frame! 🧡🧡🧡

But the music I put at the beginning of the fanfic inspired me to make such a small one-shot with my favorite couple🧡🧡🧡 I hope you like it!

Taglist [in/out]: @that1avian @gerdi-mitchell @mutant-okuri-inu @adlerdaduck @carlosoliveiraa

@tommyarashikage @alexxmason @nohimeren @violetflavia

@iamcautiouslyoptimistic @sergeiravenov @pricescigar @ladysouthpaw1213

@drug-overdose @guigz1-coldwar @kings-out-of-pocket-hell @lordskellington003

@fw-priyanshu @kylezkie4adler @ikenpachiizarakii @mygoldenmile

@vanessa3103 @septic-salad @whisperingexecutioner @altcvnningham

@elyseenmiel

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milkywayhou · 1 year ago

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Ah yes. Me. My girlfriend. And her 500 dollar four foot tall orca plush.

Got this inspiration from this meme (thanks for showing it @schr-torta !<3 )

Bonuses!

#könig mw2 #cod mw2 #könig cod #cod oc #doodle #art #cod meme #könig x oc #cod x oc #cod ocs

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dutiful-wildcraft · 6 months ago

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Life's Sweet Bells

A COD Farm Sim AU with omegaverse splashed in!

Poly 141 x F!OC. Previous. Villagers

Pt. 2: Paloma Meets Price

Johnny and Kyle lied to him.

Horrid little pack mates, he should have known something was up when the pair were unusually quiet during their weekly friday night at the inn.

John knew their newcomer had just arrived a few days prior, not that he had a lot of hope for the poor sod. People have come and gone to town before. Young bucks who thought they could hack it with the sweat off their backs. Most came because of the allure of the peaceful countryside, but quickly left when they realized luxury was a limited resource.

John had sat at the bar, whiskey in hand, something deep in his soul easing at seeing the townsfolk all inside, laughing and happy. They were a pseudo-pack of sorts, not everyone bonded, not like him and his boys, but he remained protective of them all the same. It was sheer fortune that he'd built the pack that he had, beautiful, strong and resourceful as they were. It was an absolute dream to have them all together, safe in their little village. He wasn't particularly keen on adding another, though he supposed it was inevitable.

The town's economy had been struggling since the earthquake cut down on business. Perhaps a new face wouldn't hurt…

Johnny and Kyle’s laughter pulled his attention, the pair playing some sort of roleplaying game at a nearby table, the party bantering after defeating a band of monsters.

“The goblin floats lazily down the river, slowly…like, comically slow, and you know it won't be long before the rest of his hoard realizes he's missing.” Alex narrates, looking amused, (and just a little tired) after overseeing yet another harrowing adventure, all while the boys giggle and high five.

“I LOOK AROUND” Soap blurts, bypassing any structure of the game.

“You don't wanna take a short rest first?” Alex retorts sharply.

“I did not lose any health” Farah cuts in, arms crossed, pointedly looking at Soap.

“Rest mate, you've only got 1 health point left.” Gaz adds.

“Ach fine, I rest. Then, I look around.” Soap laments.

Alex smirks, “We're resting so you can start fresh next week, but before we go” he leans in, mischief in his eyes. “You see a stranger, you know anything about strangers, Mactavish? Garrick?” He looks between them suspiciously.

And this is what really gets John's attention, makes him turn away from the bar inconspicuously. Even Farah turns, schmoozing in close to Alex to fix the pair of men with an additional suspicious gaze, eyes narrowed.

The alphas share a look, a silent conversation happening between the long time friends before they're both shrugging in unison.

Both Alex and Farah throw up their hands.

“Come off it boys, we know you've talked to the newbie.” Laswell calls from behind the bar, her wife Madeline grinning over her shoulder.

John feels just a bit sour. They didn't tell him, they'd met the newcomer.

The pair hem and haw.

“They seem alright” Gaz says, noncommittal.

Soap nods, “Real busy, they've got their hands full out there, for sure.”

“That's a whole lotta nothing.” comes a gruff voice, Ghost perched near the fireplace.

John finally cuts in, his own god damned curiosity too much to bear. He feels a bit like a teenager, wants to know every detail, what they're like, what was their name, what did they look like, designation, etc. He reels it back instead.

“Are they going to stick around is what I want to know.” he grouses, taking another swig. If he were watching a little more closely, he would have seen the playful glint in both of his alpha's eyes.

“Can't be sure.” Gaz replies, hiding a smile behind his drink.

“Maybe you should give ‘em a chat, Cap, see for yerself” Soap chimes in. “Not sure you two will jive though” he adds, staring absently into his mug.

John wasn’t a tough man to get along with, just selective.

He huffs through his nose, finishes off his drink. It would have to wait. He'd already promised to help Nik with a few “projects” in the capital. Maybe the newcomer would be gone by the time he came back, that'd be one less problem to worry about.

He’d arrived back late monday evening, leaving Nik to unload his stock while he settled into a desk in the museum reception area, working through his portion of the collections paperwork and local donations. Desk work was never his favorite, but the peace and quiet of the old place, accompanied by the soft patter of rain against the large pane windows would be plenty to lull his weary mind to rest when the time came. He looked forward to crawling into one of his pack’s beds after a long weekend away.

He’d settled in nicely, cigar in hand and hot evening tea, when the heavy wooden doors of the museum open, wind gently rustling the pages on his desk. He doesn’t look up right away, it’s probably Simon, coming by to check in.

What he was not expecting however, was the soft round thing that tiptoes inside. Wet squeaky boots on marble as she blinks at him. She's a mess, dirt smeared on her sweet round cheeks and worn denim overalls, the soaked fabric hugging her soft tummy and wide hips, silvery hair tied back in messy twin braids dripping onto the floor.

He stares.

She stares.

She’s the first to recover, flashing him a sheepish smile, eyes bright behind big round glasses. His heart stutters just a bit.

This was the newcomer?

“Hello! I’m sorry, I must have missed you earlier.” she chimes, seemingly unphased by her own disheveled appearance as she slips closer, slinging a heavy backpack from her shoulders with a soft grunt, the pickaxe at her back clanging noisily to the floor with the action.

Who gave her a bloody pickaxe??

She slings out a hand and introduces herself, wrenching it back quickly to smear the remnant dirt from her hands onto her overalls before extending it again with an apologetic smile.

It’s not often that John Price is dumbfounded, but it was certainly not every day that a big soft girl walks into his museum, especially not one like this. He didn't even realize he’d stood up, snuffling at the air like an old hound, trying to get just a whiff of the pretty thing. She’s an omega, he can feel it in his bones, something just on the edge of his biological periphery that makes his teeth ache. Her scent is nearly nonexistent under the earth and rain, but it’s there, sugary sweet like blueberry pancakes. Something ugly preens in the back of his mind.

Ah yes, this one is staying.

“Are you alright, Captain?”

He’s swift, snapping out of his thoughts to clamp his hand in hers. She’s cold to the touch, hands damp and freezing. Unacceptable.

“Are you alright sweetheart? What have you been doing?” He rounds the desk, keeping her hand aloft, thumb rubbing at her skin in a weak attempt to warm her up as he looks her over.

She had better not be doing what he thinks she was doing.

“Oh I’m peachy! Just doing a bit of mining, time just got away from me is all.” she laughs, nerves apparent in her soft english lilt.

She was.

He bites back an exasperated huff, brows furrowed in displeasure as he scans her from head to toe. She goes still, nervous, like a pup as he comes closer. She’s filthy, but doesn’t appear to be injured, just…clumsy, the ass of her overalls covered in mud from where she’d apparently fallen, several times, but otherwise okay. His brain slows down just a little.

“You were in the mines?” he asks incredulously, her hand slipping from his as she jumps back to life. “And who’d you learn ‘Captain’ from?”

“Yes!” she chirps, she’s beyond excited, dropping to her knees to root through her backpack, the sound of stones and tin clanking around in its confines. ”Soap and Gaz told me all about you, said you were always pretty busy, but I’d catch you eventually.” She pauses her rummaging, whipping back around to point at him ”They speak very highly of you by the way.” she tells him, as if the words were an important message she was tasked to bring to him.

Of course. Conniving little shits, both of them. Trying to sell him false goods. He would have both of their heads later for hogging this pretty girl all to themselves. Telling lies. Though part of him was proud, they knew him all too well, at least well enough to know he had a big soft spot for pretty birds.

All he can do is hum, watching her with no small amount of confusion as she continues to root. It appears she’s never met a stranger, bulldozing over any social formalities unwittingly.

“I’ve read mining used to be a big deal here, a great source of revenue.” she rambles giddily, “I didn’t think I would have much luck but look!” She yanks out an armful of dirt covered items, and bless her, Price doesn’t have the heart to tell her most of it is shit. Common coal and some exceptionally glittery rocks, but more importantly something else catches his eye, green and chitinous.

“Is that a bloody bug?”

“Hmm? Oh yeah! Alex told me you all were looking to make some new collections, and I noticed you didn’t have much in the way of entomology. I thought it’d be a fun thing to start!”

Fun.

Price has spent years of his life, smashing these flying demons deep in the mines, and here she was catching them. As odd as she is, the pure passion in her eyes is incredibly endearing. It was already a miracle that the goofy thing had climbed down there on her own, come out with a bag full of rocks and a bug, all without being crushed, stung or bitten.

He’d known the girl for a whole 10 minutes and already had his hands full.

He would need to have a serious talk with her about going down there again, but in the meantime he had no intention of crushing her spirit. She reminds him of Soap, brilliant and bright as a star, and it brings a fond smile to his lips.

“Quite industrious aren’t you Miss Hadley? Looks like you’ve found quite a bit, I’ll take a better look at these in the morning” he explains, carefully placing her prizes in a bin for later, “I’ll have your payment for the donations sent later in the day. For now, It’s far too late for pretty girls to be out this late, you're soaked to the bone.”

She blinks a bit, as if it just occurred to her, “Oh yes, didn’t think it would rain quite this hard all day.” she laughs a bit awkwardly, recollecting her soggy backpack. “I didn’t mean to disturb your evening.” she grabs her pickaxe (the one he was half tempted to hide and hope she forgot) before angling herself toward the door.

John has to actively bite back the harsh no bubbling up his throat at her escape attempt.

He’s never felt like such a muppet in his life. He needs to feed her, warm her up, but he has nothing here, just some granola bars and breakfast tea, no blanket, she was already shivering.

He could bully her into his home if he really wanted to, it’s just down the road...strip her down and dry her off.

She’s halfway to the door when he breaks out of his thoughts, damn near sputtering like a drowning man. “Wait.”

And much to his pleasure she stops on a dime, yielding easily to his voice. “Not going out there by yourself, absolutely not.” he huffs, stomping over to her, snagging his jacket from the rack beside the door and slinging it over her shoulders. He was being too much, he knows, opening the door for her and covering her with his umbrella as he ushers her to her home, taking the brunt of the rain just to keep her covered. He couldn’t help it, it was instinct, need.

“This is very kind of you” Paloma tells him, voice grown timid, but she stops short, cold little hands giving his forearm a tug, “but we can at least share.” She presses in close, the pair now walking shoulder to shoulder in the cool summer rain. He has to clear his throat to stop the rumbling purr deep in his chest.

“Too sweet for your own good” he murmurs, biting back a grin when she doesn’t hear him the first time. He changes tactics smoothly.

“I said, what on earth were you doing down there?”

“Oh, just trying to give everything a go. I won’t know I like something until I give it a try right? Plus everyone here seems to need a hand, I’m just happy to help.” she smiles up at him. And John really thinks this sweet girl may stick around, not because he wants her too, but because she wants too, with a heart too big to fail. He decides he’ll help her with anything if she just asks. Hell, even if she doesn’t.

They chat idly the rest of the way, boots squelching on the muddy dirt path. He learns she’s quite the reader , and crafter, and a myriad of other things, having shoved her fingers into every pie she’s come across. He tells her about his past as a foreman, his stint in the military, his work with the museum since the earthquake, and it tickles him with how intently she listens, nodding along to his every word.

Before he knows they’ve arrived, the soft glow of her porch lantern guiding them in, and part of him wishes she lived just a little farther away, if only to steal some extra time.

He guides her up the steps, his hand in hers, standing dutifully as she fishes out her key and steps inside. Safe.

He’s only a little flustered when she shrugs off his jacket and swings it back over his shoulders, his height causing her to fumble a little. Shrouding him in petrichor and blueberry sugar.

“Right,” he coughs “You get warmed up, and lock this behind you, didn’t walk you home for something else to get you.” He taps at her door seriously.

“Yes sir.” she chimes, and his stomach swoops. Fingers itching to dig into warm soft skin, he was being tested, he was certain of it.

“John, lovie, call me John.”

“Okay John, be safe” she smiles, waving goodbye with a shy wiggle of her fingers. He has to make himself turn away, waits to hear the click of her lock before trotting down her steps.

John purrs the whole way home.

#I will never waste an op to make price look like an utter goob #yes they're playing dnd its a friday night ritual now #john price #captain john price #price x oc #call of duty #farm sim au #johnny soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #task force 141 #poly 141 #wildcraft writing #oc: paloma hadley #cod ocs #Life's Sweet Bells

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