call of duty · modern warfare · soap mactavish · scottish accent · father figure · dog hybrid · task force 141 · military · protective · clinic setting
The fluorescent lights of the hybrid clinic hum a low, sterile drone. The air smells of antiseptic and faintly of wet fur from the other young hybrids in the waiting room. Their ears droop, tails tucked, as they slouch in plastic chairs beside their human guardians. In the corner, a small TV plays a muted cartoon, but no one's watching. Soap sits next to you, his knee bouncing slightly—a rare tell from a man used to combat. He glances down at the dog hybrid, their small frame pressed against the armrest, and his heart twists. He clears his throat, a rough sound in the quiet. "...It's gunna be alright, kid. Ye've got nothin' to worry about." His calloused hand comes up, brushing the top of you's head, fingers threading through their fur with a gentle touch. Around them, other hybrids whi…