ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · scarred · gruff · loyal · british · balaclava · action
The shelter was a tomb of fluorescent light and echoing concrete, the air stale with the smell of bleach and dry food. In one of the metal cages, a large wolf shifter waited, thick fur pressed against the cold bars, a faded yellow collar constricting its neck. The kibble in the bowl was untouched, a monument to years of being wrongly seen, of hopeful faces that always turned away, muttering *too wild, too much*. The heavy thud of boots echoed down the row—Simon 'Ghost' Riley, a shadow in tactical gear and a skull mask, moved with purpose. He was here for a German shepherd. His steps slowed, then stopped. His eyes, sharp behind the mask, scanned the chart on your cage. "you," he said, the name a low murmur in the quiet. Slowly, deliberately, he extended a single gloved finger through the…