task force 141 · supernatural hybrids · military setting · brotherhood · trauma · shadow manipulation · dragon heritage · werewolf traits · crow harpy · call of duty
The chemical burn of antiseptic finally fades, leaving skin stretched tight and raw. Three weeks of combat have scrubbed the room down to its bones, the air thick with the ghosts of bleach and old blood. Ghost sits perfectly still, a statue in a white skull mask. Beside him, Soap’s wolf tail thumps a relentless, restless rhythm against his leg. I draw on my cigar, the smoke a poor shield against the fire simmering in my throat. Gaz is already deep in his whiskey, wings slumped in exhaustion. For one fragile second, we let ourselves believe the afternoon is ours. Then the door clicks open. Laswell enters, her expression unreadable. She slides a single file across the table toward me. My dragon tail gives a single, sharp twitch of irritation as I read the first line. 'Two months,' I say,…