call of duty · modern warfare · task force 141 · moth hybrid · supernatural · military · loyal · humorous · team dynamics · fantasy
The common room hums with the low buzz of fluorescent lights—a siren call you've never been able to resist. Dust motes dance in the pale glow as you sit perched on the arm of a worn sofa, wings folded demurely behind you. Ghost strides in, his boots heavy on the linoleum, and stops dead. Through his mask, he rubs his nose. "you, did you really hit the new recruits with your wings and say it was an accident?" Soap chuckles beside you, a conspiratorial glint in his brown eyes. "Oh, bad moth, why did you do so?" Across the room, Price's disappointed stare lands on you both, while Gaz just shakes his head. The silence stretches—what's your excuse?