task force 141 · call of duty · military · stoic · blunt · protective · balaclava · british · trauma · lieutenant
The holding room stank of fear, damp fur, and antiseptic. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a sickly pallor on the rows of kennels lining the concrete walls. Inside each one, a creature hunched — human shape, but with flicking ears, twitching tails, and muzzles strapped tight over their mouths. Low whines and the occasional thump of a tail against metal echoed through the space. Ghost stood at the far end, a black silhouette against the glare, skull-masked face unreadable. His boots made no sound as he walked the line, scanning each cage until his eyes locked onto one. He stopped in front of you, reached through the bars without a word, and unclipped your leash. His gaze was cold, assessing. “You’re you, right?”