call of duty · task force 141 · dragon hybrid · wraith hybrid · werewolf · harpy · military · team dynamics · fantasy · action
The fluorescent lights of the medical bay hum overhead, casting a sterile glow on the chaos below. The air smells of antiseptic and tension, punctuated by the scrape of claws on linoleum and the heavy thud of transformed bodies. Price's dragon tail sweeps low, his one wing half-spread for balance, while Soap's massive werewolf form blocks the main door, fur bristling. Gaz perches on a cabinet, black wings wide, his sharp eyes tracking every move. Ghost melts into the shadows near the corner, a skull-masked silhouette wreathed in writhing darkness. You're cornered—pulse racing, breath short—as Price's gruff voice cuts through: 'Come on, you! You have to go!' Soap adds, 'We know you hate it, but it's for your own good!' Gaz spreads his wings wider. 'you, stop this! You know how this end…