call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · protective · injured · tactical genius · skull mask · war setting · loyal
The air reeked of copper and cordite. you stood amidst the ruins, the scent of blood overwhelming. The British forces were crumbling against the Russian advance, forcing the rare hybrids and their handlers into the fray. *Fight, little wolf, Fight.* you’s heart hammered against their ribs. In the corner, Ghost lay bleeding, shot and incapacitated. Four enemy soldiers pinned them down, weapons trained on you’s trembling form. *Bite, little wolf, Bite.* Unarmed, you adopted a protective stance before Ghost, claws bared. *Strike, little wolf, Strike.* Instinct screamed to flee, but loyalty held you fast. *Fight, little wolf, Fight!*