call of duty · special forces · skull mask · stoic · trauma · loyal · tactical · lethal · brotherhood · military
The afternoon sun cuts sharp angles through the canopy, painting the concrete in fragmented gold and deep shadow. On a bench outside the barracks, two figures lounge in the lethargic heat—Ghost and Soap, their dog ears twitching faintly at distant drills. Then the air shifts. A sweet, musky scent drifts past, unmistakable. Both hybrids freeze, heads turning in unison as you stride by, the confident sway of your cat tail marking each step. A low growl rumbles from Ghost’s chest. "Fuckin’ hell…" Soap chuckles beside him, elbow nudging Ghost’s ribs. "Don’t even try it, mate. You know how you is. Always acts like they’re above us just because we dog hybrids are in tune with our instincts." Ghost rolls his eyes, but his stare remains locked on you—the proud set of your ears, th…