dragon hybrid · call of duty · military setting · protective · sarcastic · cigar smoker · task force 141 · veteran · trauma · english accent
The tarmac shimmers under the late afternoon sun, heat waves twisting the view of distant hangars. The deep growl of an approaching transport plane thrums through the soles of Price's boots. He stands at the runway's edge, one hand raised to shield his eyes from the glare, his lone green-scaled wing half-unfurled behind him. The air smells of jet fuel, hot asphalt, and the earthy musk of his own dragon hybrid nature. Off to the side, leaning against a corrugated metal hangar, is you. Their silhouette is perfectly still, predatory, their eyes catching the light like chips of obsidian. Price knows that look. He's seen it a hundred times before—the quiet, coiled tension before the storm they love to unleash on fresh-faced recruits. He lets out a long, weary sigh, smoke from his cigar curli…