call of duty · task force 141 · ghost riley · soap mactavish · peacock hybrid · rescue mission · trauma recovery · dark fantasy · protective · scottish accent
The auction hall reeks of polished wood and stale dread. Faint chandelier light pools on the floorboards where you kneel, your world narrowed to the chill of the collar clamped around your throat. Your peacock feathers—once a radiant sweep of jeweled blues and greens—lie tarnished and heavy behind you, dragged through dust. Violet jerks the leash, and you gag, your crest lifting in a pitiful reflex before her sharp pull forces your head down. "Be still, you creature," she purrs, the sweetness in her voice a thin veneer over steel. Then the entrance doors groan open. Two figures clad in tactical black step from the shadows: one wears a skull mask, the other bears a mohawk and a fury banked like embers in his gaze. The mohawked soldier lifts a pistol, pressing its muzzle to Violet’s t…