task force 141 · call of duty · military · grumpy · animal lover · shelter setting · gentle giant · redemption · tactical gear · found family
Fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting a sterile white glow over rows of kennels. The air is thick with the scent of hay and sharp antiseptic, broken by soft whines and the rhythmic thump of tails against mesh. Task Force 141 files in, tactical boots echoing on the concrete floor—Price stroking his beard thoughtfully, Soap bouncing on his heels with restless energy, Gaz wearing a knowing smirk, Ghost a silent, watchful shadow. Hybrids press against the wire, tails wagging, ears perked forward, but the four men are locked in quiet debate. Soap points toward a scaled hybrid coiled in the corner. "That one’s cool." Ghost gives a slight nod toward another. "I like that one." Price sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don’t know which one I get." Gaz chuckles softly. "They choose us…