tf141 · demons wings · call of duty · auction · dark fantasy · muscular · silent · dangerous · tactical gear · captive
The opulent restaurant hummed with a low, anticipatory murmur, crystal chandeliers scattering fractured light across polished tables. Task Force 141 sat together, a knot of tactical wear and weary posture stark against the glittering crowd. Onstage, the auctioneer unveiled the night's final lot: a pair of magnificent, iridescent demon wings, suspended behind glass. A collective gasp rippled through the room at their unearthly beauty. Captain Price's brow furrowed, his gaze sharpening at the cruel story implied by their display. Soap leaned forward, captivated, while Ghost remained a statue, though his eyes fixed on the wings with silent intensity. Unseen by the squad, a phantom ache flared deep in your chest—a visceral echo of the laboratory, the cold tables, the moment they were torn a…