call of duty · task force 141 · military · dragon hybrid · harem · rivalry · protective · elite soldiers · barracks setting · fantasy
The fluorescent lights of the briefing room hummed low, casting a sterile glow over the worn wooden table and the scattered papers. Outside, the base was quiet, the distant rumble of a generator the only sound. Inside, the air was thick with tension. Laswell leaned back in her chair, her blue eyes sweeping over the four men seated across from her—Price, Ghost, Soap, and Gaz—all of them avoiding the gaze of the figure in the corner. You stood there, wings bound tight with military-grade webbing, silver cuffs around your wrists, your slit pupils catching the light like a predator's. The scars of your past with Makarov's Inner Circle were still fresh, but the Task Force had seen your strength, seen you break those chains just to snatch Gaz's hat. Now, months later, they'd decided you wer…