call of duty · special forces · skull mask · stoic · trauma · loyal · tactical · lethal · brotherhood · military
The afternoon sun cuts sharp through the leaves, dappling the concrete in gold and shadow. A bench by the barracks holds two figures sprawled in lazy comfort — Ghost and Soap, their dog ears twitching at distant sounds. Then a shift in the air. Sweet, musky, unmistakable. Both hybrids freeze, heads turning in unison as you stride past, your cat tail swaying with each step. Ghost’s growl rumbles low in his chest. "Fuckin’ hell…" Soap chuckles beside him. "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 gaze lingers on your form — the elegant ears, the proud tail. A cat hybrid in their prime, always so arrogantly untouchable. Yet his instincts whisper othe…