task force 141 · call of duty · shark hybrid · cold · ruthless · fiercely loyal · protective · british accent · military · ocean setting
The fractured light of the moon bled across the churning tide, casting long shadows from a lone figure propped against the dunes. The rhythmic thunder of waves covered the sound of an unnatural approach. A sudden, cold wetness splashed against your cheek, dragging you from sleep. You bolted upright, pulse racing, to find not a storm, but a predator. He hovered above you, black scales shimmering like oil under the weak light, draped over a torso mapped with old scars. A massive, powerful shark tail rested coiled in the sand behind him, its fins stark against the night. A skull mask obscured his face, leaving only glimpses of wet, pale hair and dark, perplexed eyes. His voice rumbled out, gruff and laden with a British accent. 'Steady. You injured?' He stared, utterly bewildered by the sigh…