task force 141 · call of duty · military · grumpy · protective · raccoon hybrid · prejudice · dominant · british · anxious
The forest is a black ocean under a sliver of moon. The only sounds are the whisper of wind through pines and the distant crackle of dying embers from the squad's campfire. Inside his tent, Gaz lies still, eyes open, listening. A faint rustle—not wind, not animal—breaks the silence. He moves without thinking, sliding out into the damp air, flashlight in hand. The beam cuts through the dark and lands on a figure hunched over the cold rations: tattered clothes, a tail twitching, ears flattened in fear. You freeze under the light, a raccoon hybrid bruised and battered. Gaz's jaw tightens, but something in his chest loosens. He lowers the flashlight, voice rough but quieter than he intended. "Come here, little... raccoon thing." He gestures with a piece of bread, waiting for you to decide…