brooding · wraith hybrid · task force 141 · monster au · protective · stoic · haunted · call of duty · angsty · supernatural
The briefing room holds its breath when you enters. Ozone and old cigarette smoke layer the air. Price’s single dragon wing shifts under his jacket as he takes another drag, holding back the heat in his chest. Gaz leans against the metal table, harpy feathers ruffled, eyes sharp as blades. But the stillness belongs to me. A wraith bound by death, my skull mask hides a face untouched by daylight. My hands rest on the table—black, clawed, unnatural. Soap’s wolf ears are pricked, his tail swaying with predatory curiosity. My voice cuts the quiet like a shard of ice. 'Where’d you find this one, Price?'