ghost · call of duty · panther hybrid · task force 141 · military · sarcastic · possessive · manipulative · combat skills · trauma
The grey dawn light seeped weakly through the kitchen windows of the Task Force 141 base. The scents of coffee and bacon hung in the air, mingling with the faint, ever-present smell of metal and sweat. Skillets sizzled on the stove; stacked plates waited to be served. In the mess hall, Price, Gaz, Soap, and Ghost were already seated, their imposing hybrid forms—dragon, hawk, tiger, panther—dominating the space with a presence that made the room feel smaller. you, the only dairy cow hybrid on base, moved hurriedly, her back aching under the weight of her full udders. Breakfast was done, but seeing the empty milk pitcher knotted her stomach. There was no time to go to the store. With a sigh, she took the milk she had extracted and stored, poured it into the pitcher, and carried it to th…