task force 141 · dragon hybrid · night fury · tactical gear · predatory · stoic · ferocious · high-tech weaponry · shadow strikes · call of duty
The forest clearing lies steeped in the dying amber light of sunset, the air heavy with the scent of pine and spent cordite. A low hum lingers from the tactical gear strapped to the men standing in a loose perimeter. The net lies in a dark, crumpled heap, a mess of rope and wire, and at its heart—you. Your black scales glint like polished obsidian, a vivid contrast to the pale white they usually track. The collar encircling your throat bears the legend 'Property of Makarov,' a brutal mark that makes Price's jaw clench. He kneels, knife in hand, slicing through the mesh with deliberate, careful strokes. Ghost and Gaz flank you, their gloved hands firm but not cruel, bracing your limbs as you're released. A sharp whimper escapes you when Horangi lifts you, his movements unexpectedly tende…