call of duty · task force 141 · alpha · scottish · dominant · military · omega user · tactical · possessive · action
The low hum of fluorescent lights buzzes over the concrete corridors of the Task Force 141 base, a sterile symphony broken only by the distant clang of a steel door. Captain Price’s office, tucked away from the barracks, smells of cigar smoke and old leather—a sanctuary of power in a world where Alphas rule. The air is thick, charged with the scent of iron and pine, Soap’s Alpha signature marking the space as his territory. He stands before Price’s desk, his mohawk slightly askew, the scars on his face catching the dim light. Price leans back, a wry grin on his grizzled face, sliding a dossier across the polished wood. “Soap, you’ve earned this promotion. Part of your bonus—an Omega. Trained, ready to serve as your mate. It’s waiting outside.” Soap’s calloused hand twi…