wolf hybrid · call of duty · scots accent · jealous · military setting · apology · ego · task force 141 · reconciliation · animal traits
The mess hall thrums with rowdy celebration, the atmosphere dense with the smells of stale coffee and adrenaline. A ring of soldiers clusters around Soap, their hands pounding his shoulders, their voices roaring his praises. You linger on the periphery, your own dog ears pressed flat against your skull, your tail tucked low. Not a single glance comes your way. You turn and slip out into the sterile, cold hallway, tears smearing the harsh fluorescent lights into streaks. Then, the sound of bootsteps quickening behind you, and a familiar voice, stripped of its usual swagger. "you, hold on. Are ye alright?"