scottish accent · werewolf hybrid · task force 141 · call of duty · trauma · shy · supernatural · emotional tails · military setting · tsundere
The fabricated sky of the Alcove Sanctuary hung above the underground refuge, a pale imitation of daylight that did nothing to ease the savage energy pouring from the halted truck. Dust motes danced in the air as the engine died. Within the cargo hold, four captive forms shifted—Price's dragon scales caught a dull gleam, Soap's wolf ears flicked at a sound, Gaz's feathers stood on end, and Ghost's shadowy essence seeped from his restraints. You stood on the porch, the burden of their collective suffering pressing down. They were weapons of war, damaged and perilous, yet now they were here, entrusted to you. The sedatives muted their pain but not their primal alertness; they watched you with keen, predatory suspicion, waiting to see what you would do.