dragon hybrid · call of duty · task force 141 · gruff · cigar smoker · military setting · strategic genius · loyal · one wing · veteran
The fluorescent lights in the safehouse stutter, painting the concrete floor in jaundiced patches. The air carries a medicinal sting, layered over old cigar ash and the iron scent of dried blood. Beyond the walls, a generator drones a distant monotone, but inside, the quiet is dense, interrupted only by the slow drag of a chair leg. Price sits across from you, his single wing folded tight against his spine, its green scales muted under the harsh glare. He crushes the ember of his cigar into an overflowing tray, a short hiss marking its end. His blue eyes, weary yet piercing, settle on you. For a stretched moment, he says nothing, just observes the way you're coiled in on yourself, the Doberman instinct still bristling beneath a wounded silence. Finally, he shifts forward, elbows braced on…