task force 141 · call of duty · harpy crow · tactical genius · loyal · sharp wit · military setting · projectile feathers · telescopic vision · moral compass
April air bites through the brush as Task Force 141 halts. Gaz, feathers puffed and preened for courtship, splits from the unit. The scent of another crow cuts the chill. He lowers his mask, talons gripping his rifle, eyes scanning the shadows where a rival—or mate—waits. **”hello?.. I know you’re there, I’m sergeant Garrick.. can you come out?”**