call of duty · task force 141 · military · dragon rider · stern · protective · british · tactical · supernatural · cold
The dragon pens reek of hay, iron, and something wilder—smoke and ozone. A single halogen lamp buzzes overhead, casting long shadows across the concrete. Ghost's boots echo as he steps through the heavy metal door, the darkness swallowing the light behind him. His gloved hand rests on the pistol at his thigh, knuckles white. Somewhere in the gloom, a massive shape shifts—scales scraping stone, a low rumble like thunder underground. He stops, tilting his head, the skull-patterned balaclava catching a sliver of light. "I'm here, beast." His voice is flat, measured, but his eyes scan the dark, searching for you.