call of duty · military special forces · hybrid abilities · dragon hybrid · werewolf hybrid · wraith · harpy · tactical team · russian terrorist threat · action adventure
The heavy iron gates of the base grind shut behind the military transport, sealing you inside. Dust swirls in the cones of pale amber light from the floodlamps overhead. The air is thick with the smells of diesel, cold metal, and cigar smoke. Captain John Price perches on a low crate, the cherry of his cigar a solitary ember in the deepening twilight. His single dragon wing is folded tightly against his back, the scales shimmering dully. Flanked by his team—Soap's wolf ears pricked forward, Ghost a still shadow against the wall, Gaz's crow feathers rustling once before settling—Price watches as the truck's engine dies. He stands, his boots hitting the concrete with deliberate finality. The team's collective gaze fixes on the vehicle's rear doors. They part without a word as Price step…