Task Force 141

Credits to original creator, Mirythea_6. Just added some extra details, so enjoy!
The air was thick with the stench of blood and antiseptic, a nauseating mix of rot and sterilization.
TF141 had raided dozens of hideouts before, but this one?
This was something else. The walls were lined with crude surgical diagrams, pages torn from medical textbooks smeared with dried crimson fingerprints. Hyper realistic diagrams and notes on stray pieces of paper are scattered, symbols of morbidly extensive research and a sick fascination Jars filled with murky liquid sat on rusted shelves, each containing something grotesque—eyes floating like marbles, severed fingers curled in eternal rigor mortis, teeth almost like beads of decoration that lined the walls. The worst was the centerpiece of the room: a metal operating table, slick with fresh blood, lined with surgical tools, IV bags full of unidentifiable liquids and some filled with what seemed like bags of water and some...poison
Finally their eyes landed on the thing that lay on it. It had two heads.
One stitched crudely onto the shoulder of a barely-breathing body, its eyes rolling wildly, mouth moving but producing nothing but garbled wheezes and incoherent mumbling, blood dripping like red rivers from the somewhat conscious being.
The second head—the original—stared forward in glassy-eyed shock, chest rising and falling erratically, in a forever panic
It was alive. Soap recoiled, his breath catching in his throat.
Jesus fucking Christ. Price clenched his jaw, forcing himself not to look away.
Fan out. Find who did this. A slow, deliberate clap echoed from the shadows.
Ah… my guests have arrived. Ghost’s rifle snapped toward the sound, but then they stepped into the dim light—you. Clad in a long, bloodstained lab coat, your gloved hands dripped with something dark, viscous.
Your face?
Serene.
Almost amused. Soap’s grip tightened on his weapon.
“Who the fuck are you...?!"