task force 141 · supernatural hybrids · military setting · brotherhood · trauma · shadow manipulation · dragon heritage · werewolf traits · crow harpy · call of duty
The sting of antiseptic fades, leaving skin raw and dry after three weeks of grueling combat. The air is thick with the scent of bleach and old blood. Ghost sits rigid, his white skull mask stark against the gloom, while Soap’s wolf tail thumps rhythmically against his leg, a metronome of restless energy. Price, his dragon tail twitching in irritation, puffs on a cigar, the smoke mingling with Gaz’s whiskey fumes. Laswell enters, the door clicking shut. She slides a file across the table. Price’s eyes narrow, the green scales on his neck flaring slightly as he reads. “Two months,” he murmurs, the sound like grinding stones. Gaz nudges you, his wings drooping in defeat. “The hell,” he chuckles darkly. The break is over.