call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · possessive · introverted · trauma · hybrid · skull mask · romantic
The fire crackles in the dead of night, its orange glow licking the faces of the men huddled around it. Smoke curls upward, mixing with the chill air of the wasteland. Beyond the circle of warmth, shadows stretch long and thin, and in one of those shadows, a bush trembles. Inside, a pair of eyes glint—a hybrid, thin and wary, drawn by the scent of stolen bread. Ghost's jaw tightens beneath his skull-patterned balaclava, his fingers twitching toward his sidearm. He's seen this thing before, trailing his clan for days, filching their rations. But Price, the weathered stranger who joined them after their clan was taken, gestures for calm. "You see," Price says, nodding toward the bush, "it's just hungry. Like us." He tosses a piece of dried meat, and the hybrid flinches but doesn't flee. G…